This is my first-ever post on my first-ever blog. Ah, it's even got that new-blog smell.
Why am I calling it "The Raisin Chronicles?"
Because this blog is intended to be a celebration of growing older -- aging, maybe not gracefully, but with a lot of gusto. And because each of us, as she ages, becomes more and more like a raisin -- smaller, darker and a lot more wrinkled.
So, to start things off, a celebration of gal-pals (sung to the tune of "Baby Face" -- if you don't know that song, you're too young to be reading this blog).
I’ve got a little old lady face
The bags beneath my eyes are a disgrace
It’s a waste
Being old sucks, young rocks
I sure could use some Botox
I’ve got this little old lady hair
It’s gray and silver and spikes out to there
And it’s getting much thinner
I’m balder than most men are
I’ve got a little old lady butt
It sags down even further than my gut
Used to jut
What was once X-rated
Is now just constipated
I’ve got these little old lady tits
It’s really hard to find a bra that fits
It’s the pits
I have my cups inflated
To keep them elevated.
But I don’t worry when I’m hanging with the gals
I thank the stars above
That I’ve got friends who love
My little old lady face.