At a wedding I was at the other day, some juju-looking raggedy-ass girls
wearing very poorly embroidered ‘Ashobi’ were throwing shade at a really nice
lady. She should by all accounts be in her 30s, even though she looked younger
than all four of them. They couldn't get above their jealousy so they made it
feel like she needed to be apologetic for her gift.
Unfortunately for them, the lady had her own back and was able to put
them in their despicable place. Now since I cannot mind my business when mean
people are told off like that, I was like “Ouch!” I am all for people
appreciating finesse, it is goodness, especially fine people whose grace is
here to reduce the effect of all the spitefulness going on in this world.
In my opinion, people do not age according to the numbers in their years
but by the pace of their value’s decline, particularly to wear and tear or even
lack of care and self-hate. I believe you’re considered old when your body
starts to treat your mind with contempt, like when your mind tells you to do
things, but your body just won’t or can’t do them.
When your body’s fulcrum gets so exposed that no quality of twerking,
winding or swerving you do on the dance floor is ever stimulating, even with
implants from head to toe, because the body’s gone so stiff that even WD-40
sprayed all over the waist, hips and butt will still be a nil effect, that’s
when you know you’re old – and it could be as early as any age.
You know you’re completely rundown when your assets: I mean your radiant
skin, full lips, round behind and excitable flat belly start doing an about
face, and even worse when your mind is messed up like that
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