A couple of years ago at my annual lady checkup, the nurse measured my height and said I was 5 feet 6½ inches. What?! I’m 5 feet 7½, thank you. She tried a few other techniques. Nope, 5 feet 6½, she said. So I made an appointment with my regular doctor. I sucked everything in and pushed my spine as close as I could to the wall (not so easy with an ample derriere) while the nurse measured me. 5 feet 7 inches, she said. I’m shrinking, it’s true. I flashed on my mother and her pals at Covenant House. One day I popped in on a mah jong game there and realized several of the ladies seemed about two-thirds the size they used to be. And they all had light red hair. Was that my destiny too?

Around the same period, no matter what my husband Jerry said to me, nearly half the time I responded, What? I wasn’t questioning what he said, I just didn’t hear him. Of course it drove him crazy. He suggested (in a very nice way) perhaps I was going deaf. So I went to a hearing specialist and sat in a little booth listening to tones at different decibel levels. The result was my hearing is just fine. I still frequently say to Jerry, What? But now I know it’s him, not me. 

But it’s definitely me when it comes to snoring. Okay, I snore. But those little nose strips seem to help. They came in very handy recently when I shared a hotel room with a beloved friend whose brutal snoring once kept me up an entire night. Right before we went to bed I said, my dear friend, I would hate for my snoring to disturb you, so that’s why I’m wearing this goofy nose strip. She said, You know, sometimes I snore, too. Do you have an extra one? My plot succeeded and we both slept through the night.