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I found my first grey hair today. Actually, it was white. I'd been getting a few white hairs in my left eyebrow. The right soon followed. But who cares? They're just eyebrows. That's what brow pencils are for. But this hair was on my head, toward the front. It felt like hay. I don't want to look like Lindsay Wagner and her Sleep Number Bed ass. Every time my hairstylist asks me if I want a conditioning treatment, I think, "Oh, no thanks. But Lindsay Wagner sure needs one!" When she brushes her hair I'll bet is sounds like she's making a skim cappuccino. (Would the original bionic woman drink whole milk? I don't think so.)

See how far I went off topic? I'm distraught. This growing older thing is progressing mighty fast. First I had a few little wrinkles around the eye. Visible to only my naked one. No biggie. I've got a Bliss catalog library. I can choose from the best preventative measures known to Oprah. Sure, the wrinkle cream costs a much as a down payment on a home, but it's worth it. And I caught it early. With treatment and a healthy diet I should be good as new in 5 days or my $3,000 back.

Then I noticed my boobs relocated. Not south for the winter. Just south. Don't go thinking that they're anywhere near my belly button, tho. They're only slightly gravitationalized, I swear. People would still want to look at them. I'm not shopping for any "boost-y" bras. No, sir.

In light of recent events, I gotta give a bitch a shout out: Thank you for my fat face, baby Jesus! It's finally coming in handy. I take back all that smack talk about your being a big loaves and fishes phony. My bad. Let's chalk it up to original sin, shall we?