That cost me six stitches and three hours in the Emergency Room.
Two weeks later I was visiting the same American Legion when a rather rotund woman began dancing on our table. I said. "Nice legs". She said, "Do you really think so?" I shot back, "Certainly! Any other table would have collapsed by now."
Another seven stitches and a night in the hospital in order to recover.
When you grow older, some things don't really seem to matter, do they?
