She encouraged me to do crossword puzzles. Keeps the mind active and exercised, she said, wards off Alzheimer's. Sorry, I thought, I'm too busy wondering how and why she believed I required that exercise. I was halfway to furious when I remembered that all advice tendered to others is meant for some younger version of the self. Herself.
The writer in me is perfectly aware of how in the interstices between these aphorisms conclusions will be drawn about the writer, her relationship to her husband (she's married? Who'd marry her? Good question.) her mother, her so-called friends you the reader are oh-so-happy not to have to count yourself among. But I have found to my infinite regret that it matters very little what I say. Those conclusions are erroneously drawn anyway. So I may as well out with it.
I was born in a Catholic family. For some people that fact alone explains their whole history. It does not explain mine.
The exploder of truisms does a job most people don't want done and the few who do don't need someone else to do it for them. So applications are never accepted.
Her husband said: Aphorism and euphemism don't mix.
This is my brain on language. Drug of choice: English.