Aging, Aging, Aging

Fiorella's baby brother’s mustache is graying.  One of her friends is planning a facelift. Everyone is getting older—except for Fio, of course. (Although she will admit she is pathetically grateful to any young squirt who admits he’s forgotten something.)

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How do you know you’re all grown up? Stage 1: Teenager supermarket clerks quit hitting on you. Stage 2: They address you as “ma’am.” Stage 3:They start hitting on your daughter.

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Fiorella wants to be cloned so that her successor can do all the things she wishes she'd done when she was younger. On the other hand, she would want her second edition to keep the experience she has now—it’s been hard won.
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Fiorella is doing her best to make her ratty old jeans look presentable and the young'ns are doing their best to make their brand-new jeans look ratty.
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If Fiohas repeated any of the entries she's made before, please forgive her and move on. This season of the year, she's running around like a decapitated chicken--and yes, she knows what that phrase means. Her father was the designated go-to-guy for chopping chicken in his neighborhood when he was a kid. Yep, that's the way they did it back then.




Did Fiorella tell you that she made contact with the Woodhall family that lived across the street from her in Akron? God bless Facebook!