I find myself bored with my usual hijinks. Unimpressed by shenanigans. Tomfoolery grows lackluster in the wake of recent events.
These days, I use the words: “Yep. I’m too old for this shit” with frequent dexterity.
If I had a lawn, I’d yell at those “good for nothing kids.”
But with the right crowd, beneath the iridescent glow of an A-Bees table light, as we poke fun at our stranger danger waiter, I’m not afraid of growing up.