Now that we’re dangerously close to qualifying for the senior citizen’s discount at the Pearly Gates, Bill Dear and I have decided to increase our exercise time and see if we can put off the trip to the Great Beyond so we can annoy our kids a while longer. Since our present exercise routine consists of trying to stand up after pushing the envelope by sitting and reading at the same time, our choices for aerobic potential were wide open.
We started off well, but eventually one of us started an argument by deciding that our routine would be more aerobically beneficial if we actually left our recliners. Bill Dear pouted and popped me with his cane.
After an extended period of the “who’s going to get up first game,” we joined hands and limped down the path toward cardiac health together.
Bill regarded me critically.
“Is your arthritis acting up?”
“No, why?” I find it’s best to humor him. He is capable of halting the whole process in favor of a debate.
“The way you’re walking reminds me of the time you tried to ride the pogo stick.”
“I almost had the hang of it, too.”
“You sure did. It’s a shame about Happy’s tail.”
“Yeah, poor thing. He was never quite as happy after that.”
“So what’s with the bump and grimace?”
“I’m trying to walk like Giselle Bundchen, the supermodel, on the cat walk.”
“Well you look like Patches, the calico, in the cat box.”
“Thanks a lot. You don’t exactly have Justin Timberlake’s smooth moves, you know.”
“Who’s Justin Timberlake?”
“He’s the one who’s bringing sexy back.”
“Sounds like he’s got a better gig than Santa Claus.”
“I think he skipped our house.”
“Darlin’, he skipped our whole street. But don’t worry.”
“Somebody’s sure to return theirs to WalMart after Christmas. We’ll pick some up for half price, just in time for the New Year.”
That's what I like. A man of action at discount prices.