Imagine an eighty something couple deciding to dance at their granddaughter's wedding, risking it all to creek slowly from side-to-side.
As you get older, routine choices become life or death decisions.
If one of the drunk groomsman, stumbles over his feet, or trips on dangling metal leg of a punk ass dining room chair, and falls forward into them, it's over.
Broken hips. Ruptured organs. Possible stroke. Possible heart attack. Broken arms. Bruising. Swelling. Broken necks. Internal bleeding. Tragedy.
And I wish I was an eighty something who died because of someone accidentally falling into me while dancing, especially at a wedding.
Fuckin hate weddings.
This is positive thinking at 6:03 am.
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