Hi, my name is Lita and I am 46 years old. Some people say that i don't act my age. I'm always flying by the seat of my pants. Jumping from one place to another, speaking my mind and all covered in paint at the same time. Not the paint you slap on your walls, I just have to be clear about that. We will get to that kind of paint, I am sure at another time. I pack up my crutches and bounce on one foot to my car. It's the same thing that I have been doing for about a month. Broken foot. Tripped over a curb while I was working, twisted the bugger up and snap! Now I hobble around, getting an earful from Gronk every time I put any weight on it. He loves me, so I'll listen to him this once.
Back to the car. So I'm on my way and my Bluetooth picks up an unknown caller. Could be a number of people calling so luckily for them I pick up. It's Picker, she wants to know what I'm doing. I tell her I'm on the road to gramma's house. All of a sudden she wants me to pick her up...then the story changes, she wants me to pick her up, drive her to the drugstore, on one foot, bounce to the pharmascist, get some Tylenol, pay for it with my own money, bring it to her and then proceed to watch her eat about a dozen. Just to take the edge off. Sorry, I say. "Can't do that!" "What is wrong with you!" she says. I reply, "I'm not interested in feeding your addiction anymore, I don't want to enable you." It goes quiet for a second..." So when are you picking me up?" Picker says. "Not going to grammas anymore, sorry". She hangs up. As I pull into the driveway and lock up the vehicle, my jacket snags on the spring that gramps has made to make sure the gate shuts. It practically rips off my ear. We gotta fix that, I think to myself. Manoeuvre around the patio steps and yet once again, the door. Another spring loaded contraption just waiting for my pants. Is this some kind of bear trap? I barely make it in unscathed and almost fall into a bucket that is right in front of the door. "What the fuck is in that!!!
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