The Writing On The Wall

I seated my old bones slowly on the stool in a public restroom stall. As I relaxed, I chuckled to myself over the disgusted looks the other ladies would have right now. I felt suddenly rebellious and restrooms are great places to think.

I’d spent my whole life doing things according to ‘the rules’ in order to fit in and gain acceptance. But as I considered the writings on the wall, I realized the time was NOW.

I had long ago started carrying everything I could possibly need in my purse. I think that’s what made my back so hunched over. Forget osteoporosis. I had osteo-PURSE-osis!

I felt my joints crack as I leaned over to dig inside my purse for that one small item. I uncapped my black sharpie, good for coloring over scuffs on dress shoes, and the sharp, intoxicating scent spurred me forward.

I scratched out the curse words and corrected grammar, but that just encouraged me even more. I grinned and penned a message of my own:
“It is not a fragrant world.”

I chuckled to myself and signed it, ~Muriel, 84.

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