Angry At Her

Worried because they hadn't heard anything for days from the widow in the neighboring apartment, Mrs. Silver said to her son, "Timmy, would you go next door and see how old Mrs. Kirkland is?" A few minutes later, Timmy returned. "Well," asked Mrs. Silver, "is she all right?" "She's fine, except that she's angry at you." "At me?" the woman exclaimed. "Whatever for?" "She said  'It's none of your business how old she is,'" snickered Timmy.

Old Librarians Again

Old Librarians never die, they just check out.

Pondering Old Age

How do I know that my youth is all spent? Well, my get up and go has got up and went. But in spite of it all I am able to grin when I recall where my get up has been. Old age is golden -so I've heard it said- but sometimes I wonder when I get into bed, with my ears in a drawer and my teeth in a cup, my eyes on the table until I wake up. Ere sleep dims my eyes I say to myself, "Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?" And I'm happy to say as I close my door, my friends are the same, perhaps even more. When I was young, my slippers were red, I could pick up my heels right over my head. When I grew older, my slippers were blue, but still I could dance the whole night through. But now I am old, my slippers are black, I walk to the store and puff my way back. The reason I know my youth is all spent, my get up and go has got up and went. But I really don't mind when I think, with a grin, of all the grand places my get up has been. Since I have retired from life's competition, I accommodate myself with complete repetition. I get up each morning, and dust off my wits, pick up my paper and read the "obits". If my name is missing, I know I'm not dead, so I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.