Life After 60

“I am going to turn over a new leaf,” my friend told me frankly. “Will it be a right turn or a left turn?” I asked interestedly. “It will be a u-turn, then straight dow n for a mile, before taking a turn to the right,” he ann ounced. “So you want to become a Rightist?” I asked clapping my hands. “I am tired of being called a Leftist merely because I use my left hand to scratch my nose,” my friend told me unhappily. “Why don’t you become a centrist then, they have postal classes for that sort of thing,” I remarked. “No, no, I’m looking for an online class which will help me understand how to turn over a new leaf,” he replied. “Are you looking for the creeper variety or just as in trees and branches and the birds and bees?” I asked. “Creepers make me feel creepy,” he shivered, “I prefer branches, especially those with leaves that Ada m and Eve used. “Then you will have to ask Columbus to take you to Paradise, with stops in between to see ancient G

“Do you stock underwear?” I asked the salesman politely. “You want to invest in underwear, Sir?” asked the salesman courteously. “It’s the best investment these days,” I remarked. “Are you planning a short term investment or a long term one, Sir?” asked the salesman smoothly. “I prefer long underwear with a frill or two,” I explained. “You want a chequebook too, Sir?” “I prefer checks,” I said, “but flower patterns will also do as long as I don’t have to water them.” “We give a free watering can and a garden hose with that line of underwear, Sir,” the salesman said. “When do the flowers actually bloom?” I asked interestedly. “That depends on how much you water them, Sir,” the salesman replied. “ Don ’t they need fertiliser?” I asked. “We supply that too, Sir,” the salesman said smiling. “You give a lot of freebies with underwear,” I remarked. “You can get some delightful free bees too for the flower patterned underwear, Sir,” the sale

“Are you looping the loop again?” I asked the neighborhood lunatic. “Yes, it’s hard work,” he said wiping his brow after climbing down the lamp post for the eighteenth time. “What do you see up there?” I asked him. “I ensure that the lamp posts are going out on regular dates,” he said. “Do they go out? They can’t be of much use at night then,” I remarked. “No, no,” the lunatic corrected me, “they go out dating.” “Lamp posts go out dating!” I exclaimed. “They all have their secret love lives,” the nut said nodding his head, “they can’t always be like the young cad who stood on the burning deck.” “Do lamp posts burn the candle at both ends?” I asked eagerly. “When the bulbs kick the bucket, they have to get candles from the grocers at a premium,” the fellow said, “the grocers make a quick buck  when the lamp posts are fumbling about in the dark looking for loose change.” “You can spare some loose change for the lamp posts,” I suggested. “I ca