Perks of Adulthood

Lifting a bowl to lick out that last morsel of food would have occasioned a sharp tsk-tsk from my mother. Now, here I sit contemplating a small mound of pasta that won’t get on the fork. I chase it around the rim. Heck, she’s gone, and I’m in my seventies. You know what happens next. Delicious!

Deborah Jones likes red wine, wombats, and Oxford commas. Not necessarily in that order.