I already know I’m a geezer.
While shaving this morning I spotted a wild tuft of hair on the side of my neck that hadn’t been there last week.
My hair realizes it misses the sixties and is doing whatever the heck it pleases. And I can’t blame it.
A recent letter to the editor of The Londoner confirmed I’m a geezer too, as excuse after excuse - six in all - for using plastic bottled waters made me realize I come from another generation, maybe even from a land far away where we learned to do many things for ourselves and when we whined that we were hungry our mothers told us to have a drink of water, then go outside and play - but not with scissors.
I’ll start teasing a few posts out of the letter after I make my morning orange juice.
Tune in for Part 2
Click here for the first in a recent series about The Blackout
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