H1NE1?

Son #1 was reading a library book last night on wizardry and decided to read my palm. Not that I believe in this stuff but my lifeline fades and splinters mid-palm for a good quarter of an inch, regains strength and continues until it reaches my wrist. Since I'm quickly rounding the age bend toward 45, I'm thinking I've gotta be entering the fractured, mid-palm stage of life right now.

And given that I've been sick with what I'm calling "the plague" for over five weeks and, once again, have tissues stuck up my nose today at work (i.e., stunningly gorgeous, as always), I'm thinking this is the beginning of the end. Or at least the beginning of the prolonged "life support season" of my apparently fragile-but-lengthy existence.

Thankfully with all of the (justified?) pandemic paranoia going around these days, my kids have really long, thick, lifelines. I just pray to God every night that they remain safe, healthy, happy and filled with wisdom to make the right choices in life -- especially if I'm no longer around as God continues thinning the herd.

On a related age note, we watched the Wanda Sykes HBO special over the weekend. She, too, is 45 years old and makes a few great jokes about her aging body (and her bulging midsection's demands for bread and alcohol). Sounds familiar. She even delivered the following zinger:

“I used to pack an extra pair of panties in case I got lucky. Now I pack an extra pair in case I sneeze.”

Afterward, she dropped to the floor pretending that she had a Kegel-induced charlie horse. If only it wasn't so funny . . .