OR
When you get to a certain age, the junk mail people, who seem to know all about you, start sending you nice little suggestions for planning your funeral, so that your "loved ones" don't have to bother. You can pay now if you want to, but I don't want to.
And then someone else - as this morning - sends you a catalogue of "activity clothing". Horrible lycra shorts, sexless bras, that kind of thing. I don't want those, either.
I wish they'd make up their minds. Best of all, I wish they'd all bugger off and leave me alone.
(Wonderful Rob has restored wonderful Old Blogger. For the time being...)
