i will be old one day. i will be withered. my breasts will sweep the floor ahead of me as i shamble down the street. my hair will be gone. my knees will have been replaced by titanium springs. my eyes will require the aid of quadrifocals just so i can maintain my dignity by not tripping over the aforementioned breasts.
but babies, i will be one colourful old broad.
and not just in the linguistic department.
when i am an old woman, i shall not only wear purple: i shall swathe myself in magenta; i shall don puce; i shall sheathe my aged carcass in aquamarine and chartreuse. you will see me coming, tangerine silk billowing in my wake. my hat will have cherries on it and my underwear will proclaim the day of the week in sequins and embroidery. i will continue to wear my candy apple red new orleans boots. i will have a lemon coloured purse to match.
watch out. my black days are over.