The Rant of a Late Bloomer

THIS IS THE BEGINNING and end of Wendy’s story. Lying on her deathbed at the overripe age of 110, surrounded by weeping family members, she suddenly opens her eyes and exclaims, “Wait a minute! I know what I want to be when I grow up!” Clutching her chest, like milk left in the fridge too long, she reaches her expiry date.

THE FAMILY all nodded to each other in agreement. It was a well-known fact that Wendy was a Late Bloomer.