Marjorie looks younger than she is. She always dresses well, and today is no exception; a jauntily-tipped cap sits upon her straight brown hair, her torso is wrapped in an elegant gold jacket, and her feet are clad in expensive leather boots. But between the tops of those boots and the hem of her skirt protrude her wrinkled, spotted knees.
Those knees betray her age and belie her stylish outfit. They show how many obstacles she has overcome during her life, yet they also highlight the damage she sustained in the process. Her husband left her for a woman with smooth, soft, shapely knees—knees that had not climbed as many stairs, knees that had not supported the weight of pregnancy, knees that had not broken countless falls.
Whenever she watches reality TV or reads beauty magazines, Marjorie sadly laughs at the women who want bigger breasts and smaller bellies. Marjorie knows better. She knows they should be worried about their knees.
Hey hey there. I'm at work again, so I can't talk long. It is a dismal day outside, but kind of perfect for Halloween week, I think. Last night my friends and I read some good scary stories to each other, so that was fun. Anyway, I should probably go. Until next time.