When I'm Ninety-Nine

When I'm ninety-nine I'm going to throw a big party and wear a fancy purple hat with feathers. I'll have all my friends come over and we'll drink tea with two lumps of sugar each and pretend that we're rather exceptional people. And then, the next day, I'll go to the doctor. At the age of ninety-nine one does not expect to live much longer, and I'm sure that the doctor will warn me about the end. He'll probably tell me that I should take care of myself and eat healthy, and maybe let someone else take care of me, but I couldn't disagree with him more.

When I'm ninety-nine I'm going to do whatever I like, thank you very much. Why eat rice cakes and lean chicken and watch Dr. Oz all day when I could go to a fancy restaurant wearing my purple hat? And I'll order a cheeseburger at the restaurant. And a Diet Coke. And I won't take any of the pills that the doctor gave me for being senile, or the ones for my wrinkles, or the ones for my sight.

When I'm ninety-nine my appearance will have changed. I'll look old and wrinkled and I might have trouble climbing stairs. But my spirit is young. My spirit will live forever.





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