|I guess if I were going to buy a cemetery plot,|
it would have to be along the lines of this one in Paris.
He sent me an email with a low whistle that I could somehow hear through the email, followed by disbelief that I could be so old. Then he went on to tell me what time the Early Bird dinners start.
I read that and teased him back and the phone rang. It was a telemarketer trying to sell me a cemetery plot. I thought it must be some kind of joke, but wasn't sure who was behind the prank. My brother? My husband? My mother? My son?
Turns out it was none of them. It was a legitimate call!
When I accused my brother, he said the caller got it wrong. It should have been the Red Hat Society calling me with an offer for discount dentures...
It's not even dinnertime yet.
Like Rodney Dangerfield, I get no respect. But I did get presents, so we're good.