They're So Vein

There I was, fifty-eight, contemplating my life with white-knuckles and a desperation that gives the stockholders of Revlon, Max Factor, and Maybelline something to smile about, when this little kid and his mother show up. They got into a real yelling match. I decided to whip out my cell phone and film the tirade--the little shit sank his fangs in my neck and the next thing ya know I'm the back seat of my Jeep, newly acquired fangs hanging out, with my sister JoAnn's beloved French poodle, Tootles, in my lap.If that wasn't bad enough I had to go home and explain things to the five non-estrogen producing women in my family. Three generations of irritating women, and only one un-vain, vein in the bunch; my daughter Jeni. Completely happy with her mortal life, tried to reason with the rest of my family when they started shoving their necks in front of my face. Did they listen? Hell no!I looked twenty-five--They looked--well--old?A domino effect quickly ensued, leaving Jeni the sole voice of reason.