Other than world peace, a clean environment, and cures for all sorts of terrible diseases, you mean?

The awful truth is . . . I haven’t the foggiest notion.

This is what happens when you get older, you no longer go to work every day, and your social life slows down to approximately the speed of one of those ancient Galapagos tortoises. You have more jewelry than you will ever again wear; those beautiful leather handbags you used to covet are now too heavy to lift, even empty; and your stack of “to-be-read” books has already toppled over onto the cat twice.

(She’s all right, but she still runs screaming from the room every time I pick up a book.)

I’ve been collecting art glass and Native American pieces for so many years, there is no bare space for any more. And I’m sick to death of dusting them anyway. Actually thinking of having a yard sale one of these days.

The same goes for kitchen stuff and small appliances. Besides, who cooks?

And if you’re thinking a nice fluffy robe or throw would be just the ticket for those cold winter nights, everybody else is way ahead of you — I’ve got so many, I’ll have to donate some to the local shelter.

Though some nice red wine (Merlot is perfect) would help me stay good and warm.

That fruit-of-the-month thing you sent a couple of years ago was lovely, but that was before my digestive system went all kerflooey, so probably not a good idea now. IBS is really a bitch.

And I still have enough of last birthday’s body lotion gift set left to de-wrinkle an elephant.

I am running out of toenail fungus cream, though.

And speaking of animals . . . no, I don’t need a puppy for company, thank you. You know I love them, but they have to be walked at all hours, and I can barely get myself to the bathroom on time these days.

I did used to love the day spa with the massage. But I caught a look at myself in the bathroom mirror the other day. Nobody sees me naked anymore. Understand? Nobody!

Anyway, I guess you’ve gotten the picture by now. There are a few basic necessities you might consider — not very sexy, but it would save the Amazon delivery people a couple of trips, and me a good bit of money. Things like toilet paper, vitamins, and laundry detergent (those cute little pods because the jugs of liquid are also too fuckin’ heavy to lift anymore).

Of course, there’s always a gift certificate from my therapist’s office. Medicare doesn’t cover everything, you know.

Well, I do hope this has been helpful. And thanks ever so much for thinking of me.

Brendochka

11/17/24