My Kind of Mardi Gras

This year, I am officially taking it easy. No more frenzy for me. No wading through the edges of smothering crowds. No more stale beers spilled on me. Okay, I did have a drink sloshed across my torso yesterday, but that was vodka. No more shrill cackles piercing my eardrums like ice picks. No more otherwise grown-up women and men behaving badly.

I’ve packed all that up, and I’m moving on. To peace and quiet.

The weather’s helping matters. It’s too chilly and wet to be out there.

Do I miss the mayhem? Nope. Just a little? Uh-uh.

Been there, done that, never caught an STD.

Or a bullet.

Besides, at my age, it takes way too long to get pretty. And all that product is expensive for a little old man on Social Security.

So, goodnight, ladies. It was fun while it lasted, but the high old times will always, sooner or later, drag and sag.

It’s time to turn the corner and head on home.

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