If there are three things I want to hold onto until the end of my life it’s my brains, my teeth and my hair—in that order.
The brain part is kind of iffy but I’ve been trying to spare it by not using it very much. It gets lots of time off. My hair, I think, is a gift from Grandma or Grandpa Porter. They had nice, thick hair all their lives. My dad probably wanted to give me his, but he didn’t have much left by the time retirement set in so I just let him keep it.
Teeth are a different story. Mine hang in there pretty good but I know that I’ve got to take care of them or they’ll desert me. There, my friend, is the rub. To do that you have to go to the torture chamber–um, excuse me. I mean the dentist office. Continue reading