Image source: superveloce

A middle-aged frumpy couple return to a Mercedes dealership where the salesman has just sold the car they were interested in to a beautiful, leggy, busty blonde.

“I thought you said you would hold that car till we raised the £75,000 asking price,” said the man. “Yet I just heard you close the deal for £65,000 to the lovely young lady there. You insisted there could be no discount on this model.”

“Well, what can I tell you? She had the ready cash and, just look at her, how could I resist?” replied the grinning salesman.

Just then the young woman approached the middle-aged couple and gave them the keys.

“There you go,” she said. “I told you I would get the dope to reduce it. See you later, dad.”

Never mess with the old uns!

A big, tough-looking man wearing a tank top and baseball cap took hold of the door at the Circle K that my shorter-than-he-ever-used-to-be husband was trying to push open.

The man stood aside, gesturing with a chin up nod that my husband should go on through.

That night I was sitting on the edge of the bed in our bedroom, when my husband came in. I could tell from the expression on his face that something was wrong.

“The hardest thing about this Parkinson’s thing is the pity,” he said.

“What pity?”

“The pity people give me. I see it in their eyes. When somebody helps me with a door they have that look—the look of pity.”

Pity?

I had never seen pity in people’s eyes and told him that I thought maybe he was misunderstanding things.

Having always been a healthy, capable man—he’d never been in a position in…