My Ankles are Getting Older

I often think of weird questions. When I ask my weird questions of most people they just sort of scratch at their heads, give it a little shake as though getting rid of the strange notion I’ve put there, and giggle as though I was trying to be funny. The only person who seems to take these questions seriously, if with a bit of humor as well, is my best friend Sara.

Nobody takes these things as seriously as I do except for her, so when I have a questions I realize might be a bit odd, I text her instead of some poor soul who will spend the rest of the day wondering what the heck had they just been asked.

ankles

One day I look down at my feet and they don’t look like mine anymore. I spend a few minutes puzzling over this, very upset that my ankles and feet look like someone else’s, before I decide to text Sara.

Me: So, trying to decide if my ankles are fatter, but think I’ve come to the conclusion they just look older.

I don’t even wait for her reply, I’m that distraught.

Me: Why didn’t anyone ever tell me even my ankles would start to look like they weren’t mine?

Sara: WHY IS ANKLES GETTING OLDER A THING? WHY!?

Me: EXACTLY! WHY!?

Me: Also, why did *my* brain decide to notice it? So not fair.

I’m pretty sure that Sara is the only one who would take ankles getting older seriously enough to engage in the conversation with me, not just look askance at her phone and ignore the questionable point I’m trying to make. I’m also aware how great of a friend she is as she did not ask me why I pointed out to her that ankles get older . I’m sure she would have been fine with never pondering that thought.

However, a long time ago I decided that if my brain has to suffer through these thoughts so should other people, but mostly Sara. It’s character building. You’re welcome.

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