I am about to discard a bathroom mat. You know the kind: little more than a thick towel.
It has my grandmother's handwriting on the edge.
Her handwriting reads: 10/15/47.
Now, lest some of you think that that is from 1847, I need sorely disappoint you. The bathmat is only 67 years old.
Time marches on.
That is all.
It has my grandmother's handwriting on the edge.
Her handwriting reads: 10/15/47.
Now, lest some of you think that that is from 1847, I need sorely disappoint you. The bathmat is only 67 years old.
Time marches on.
That is all.