Getting more discrete with age

On my way back from the store, a lady asked me from her car whether this was 27th Avenue. “Yes,” I said.

She went on, “I’m trying to get to Holman’s Funeral Home.”

I pointed and said, “I think that’s it right over there.”

She looked and scowled. “Ooh, how do I get in?”

“Well, you could die, to start with,” is what I didn’t say. Instead I just replied, “Hmm, I’m not sure.”

She drove on with a determined look on her face, while I congratulated myself on exercising that tiny bit of impulse control, just this once.

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