In the bathtub at 4AM. I hear a horrible groaning drawing near, as if from a wounded yeti. I grab the loofah on a stick to use as a weapon. It’s just Frank.
Me: What’s wrong, baby? You sound awful.
Frank: My back is acting up again. I’ve got to get some of this weight off.
Me: Me, too. My heel spurs have been killing me lately.
Frank: What are you doing up?
Me: Gallbladder attack. I had to drink some Apple Cider Vinegar. And, you?
Frank: Acid Reflex.
Frank: Whatever. I woke up on fire.
Me: From now on no pizza after 9pm.
Frank: I know. This shit is unbearable.
Me: You want some warm milk?
Frank: No, I better go back to bed. I’ve to get up early, and you know if I don’t get eight hours I’m not worth a crap.
Me: See you in a little while. Frank…
Frank: (turning back with a moan): Yeah.
Me: Can I ask you something?
Me: When did we get so fucking old?
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.