Once there was a man, who invented a machine. It would make his life easier. It would replace the way it’s been. It automated daily tasks, repetitive and dull. It would free someone to use their mind, deep thoughts would fill their skull. It didn’t work the way he planned. Things didn’t become serene. Now he spends all his time, fixing the machine.
It was a meal made by paupers. From the poorest cut of meat. Common vegetables for flavor, spices for added heat. It was tasted by the upper class. Sold in shops owned by the low. It caught on as grand cuisine, for palettes in the know. It became the latest thing. Demand for it grew. Now the paupers can't afford it. And are eating cabbage stew.
I needed rest from my busy life. It was all work and no play. I planned time to vacation. I set aside some days. When my days off were over, I was more tired than before. For all I did was work, in my home doing chores.
I saw a fortune teller. To have my fortune read. She gazed into her crystal ball. I listened to what she said. Then she screamed in horror. I let out a nervous laugh. I inquired "What did you see?" She said, "I saw you in the bath!"
They say age is just a number. You are as young as you feel. And growing older means your wiser. At least that’s supposed to be the deal. But the things that I am wise about, are mistakes I can’t repeat. And as my number grows larger, I’m further from petite.