The Week I Was Spry

The Week I Was Spry

A few months ago, it happened for the first time.  A woman whom I admire said simply to me, “You certainly are spry…”  Now I ask you, what is the rest of that sentence?  A few days later a person I did not know made the pointed comment, “You certainly are spry…”  Now I must ask again, what is the rest of that sentence?  Go ahead, say it, “for a person your age”.

Granting that I am nearing ninety, one wouldn’t expect cartwheels, and of course thank goodness I’ve passed the potential for early onset Alzheimer’s; but why can’t people finish that sentence?  Or is it so obvious as to seem unnecessary?

Now I’m beginning to worry. It has been almost a year and it hasn’t happened again.  It can’t mean that I am no long a person of “that age”.  Does it mean that I’m no longer seen as sprightly, lively, spirited, vivacious and those other peppy words I found while naturally looking in the dictionary. 

It is true that the wonders of modern science and wonder-pills costing over $500 a day have added spring to my step. By the way, thank you for paying for the pills. I certainly couldn’t afford them. In any event, perhaps I am no longer perceived as so old, so I am no longer seen (or at least reported) as spry.

One more thing.  My research did provide one more daffy definition of spry.  It was “as lively as a grig”.  Look that up in your Funk and Wagnall’s when you get a chance. 

In the meantime, I guess I’ll just stop worrying about being old or grig and just try to continue to recall “The Week I Was Spry”. 

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