Three friends are discussing their how life’s been treating them as they get older.
“I’m getting so forgetful,” says Dermot.” My kids say I’m always repeating myself over and over again.”
“I’m even worse,” says Malachi. “I can’t remember a thing these days. I find myself with a can of beer in my hand and I can’t remember if I’m putting in in the fridge to cool or taking it out to drink.”
Seamus looked up and said: “Oh I’m that bad yet…touch wood,” as he tapped his knuckles on the table. Suddenly, he looked up and said: “There must be someone at the door.”
“I’ll get it,” said Dermot.
“Get what?” said Malachi.
They all looked at each other trying to remember what they were talking about. There’s a silence for a few moments and the Dermot says: “I’m getting so forgetful. My kids say I’m always repeating myself over….”
Time may be a great healer but it’s a lousy beautician.
Women over 50 don’t have babies because if they did, they’d put them down and forget where they left them.