Signs of Old Age

When my daughters are around, I never get to finish a sentence. They say that they’d let me if I wasn’t so slow. Our conversations go like this.

Harriet: Liz, you know that guy –

L: What guy?

H: The one from Pennsylvania.

L: Ralston?

H: Yes, Ralston. His son – what’s his name?

L: Ed?

H: Yes, Ed. He said I looked like that television program in this jacket.

L: What television program? Dallas?

H: No. Young guys -

L: St. Elsewhere?

H: No, Florida.

L: Miami Vice?

H: Yes!

H: Liz, will you take that er---

L: Basket out to the car?

H: Liz, you know that fellow er -- the one that tried to er – sell me –

L: The insurance policy?

The other day at the mall we came out from shopping to drive home and I noticed how rusty my car was getting. I said, “O Liz, I’ve thought so much of my nice little blue car and it’s getting all rusty! What am I going to do!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Mom, it isn’t your car!”