This sample is from Armed and Outrageous.
My alarm clock went off at five as it does every morning. Reluctantly, I pulled my feet out of my down comforter. I forgot I had turned the air conditioner on sixty-five the night before, but heck, older gals are known to get pretty heated at night. Not that it mattered much because I wake up every morning wringing wet. Most mornings, I feel like a wet dishrag.
First thing in the morning, standing isn’t an easy task, and today was no exception. I put my right hand out, and balanced it on my bedside table, and pushed the other against my mattress and stood. I heard a thump and looked down and noticed my denture cup had hit the floor and not only did it open, but my dentures bounced under the bed like an angry crab. I hoped they didn’t break. If I had to take them for repairs, again, it would be the third time this month.
It’s a crying shame to feel so achy and sore every morning. I’m only seventy-two, and that’s not old. I remember a time I thought seventy to be old, but the closer I got to seventy, my perception changed.
I flipped the light on and knelt on the floor in search of my dentures. I spotted them and used my grabber to reach them. The only useful thing I got out of physical therapy, those grabbers could also be useful for pinching my best friend, Eleanor, when she gets out of line.
I examined my errant, runaway dentures. I sighed in relief as they were still intact, although loaded with ancient cat hair. My cat Duchess sheds enough hair to knit a blanket for the homeless.