Gravity Sucks

I talk to myself, a lot. Sometimes I direct my conversations to my dogs, but I’m really just trying not to look crazy if any other human is listening. Lately I have uttered “Gravity sucks!” when I drop stuff. I think I am mad at Isaac Newton. He didn’t invent gravity, but was the one who identified it. If he hadn’t been a lazy butt and fallen asleep under an apple tree, I wouldn’t be having a gravity problem. Maybe I should be mad at the apple that beaned him on the noggin. So I was looking in the mirror the other day, focusing on my neck. My skin was all wrinkly and crepey. The term “turkey wattle” popped into my head. Ugh. I pulled on the back of my neck and the wattle disappeared like magic. It was then that I remembered watching my mother doing the same thing. At the time, she had been a lifelong smoker. I just assumed that was what created all the wrinkles. Plus, she was OLD. I figured wrinkles came with the territory. I would like to smack the young me on the back of the head (like Isaac Newton’s rogue apple) for being stupid and insensitive. What a jerk. The older me now realizes that my mom’s wrinkles weren’t due to smoking. It was GRAVITY’s fault. I am not upset enough with the aging process to try a surgical fix. I have seen enough actors on TV with weird plastic, immovable faces to keep my wrinkles firmly in place. Still, I am starting to understand the motivation. Butts sag, boobs sag (mine are still perky), bags appear under eyes. Gravity, gravity, gravity. I know we need to be anchored to the ground, but less might be more fun. I would enjoy leaping high like the astronauts did on the Moon. If a person could actually live on the Moon, would they have no wrinkles? Maybe just tiny laugh lines, and no saggy body parts. Hmmm. Where do I sign up for Space Force? Can I go NOW? And just how big will my butt look in the silly uniform? So much to ponder. Maybe I should just stay put, embrace my neck, and stay mad at Isaac Newton’s apple. Sigh.