What gets better with age?

I cannot believe I haven’t written in two weeks. I could spend a page explaining why, but it really doesn’t matter. My friend, H, says when she writes she feels in control. I’m not sure I get that feeling, but I get a feeling of power. I feel like I must have myself together to wield the power of the blog. This is not true of other writing – back when I worked for Demand Studios I could write all day long. To be honest, I never engaged in the word, which is probably why I got fired. (According to my husband it was because I am too good a writer to work for them. Choose which ever you like.)

My husband gets better with age. He turned forty-six a few days ago. He’s a strapping gent, with wash-board abs and a trendy beard. I hate the beard, but according to him, hot babes ooh and ah over it, so it remains.

I don’t care so much about that physical stuff. Its nice, sure, but what matters most is that he wants to be told when he does wrong. This is not true all the time. He does not appreciate my helpful driving tips, or even cooking tips, but if someone notices he does too much of something, say, play video games, he will likely change it. He does not play video games at all anymore.

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