So, I walked in to the kitchen last night to see my dad chatting with this gray-haired biker with a limp. (This is not an unusual sight in my kitchen). I had to interrupt their little pow-wow to get my cane and it turned out that the limpy, gray-haired biker had to move his car so I could get my car out of the driveway. I guess my dad must have mentioned my hip-replacement woes, because when the biker was going down the stairs, he turned to me and said, "Just be thankful you're not me."
"Oh yeah?" I said. (Because, really, what do you say to that? "Yeah, I thank my lucky stars every day?" "Actually, I've always wanted to rock a pair of leather chaps so I'm a bit jealous?")
"I've got myself a wooden leg." He bent down and knocked on his leg.
"Oh," I said. "Well." For perhaps the first time, I was left rendered speechless. So, there you go. My pep-talk of the day: When all else fails, at least I'm not a middle-aged peg-legged biker. I think I need to get that on a T-shirt.