Shirley and Mabel epitomized old-world San Diego glamour as they rode their electric scooters around their senior home’s extensive, well-flowered grounds, waving the Queen’s wave. They were the brightest stars there -- the prettiest, most vivacious, and most fashionable.
And they were inseparable...except that recently, Shirley seemed sweet on Jack Mayfair. This annoyed Mabel. She felt Shirley and she both should date, of course, as they were silver cougar-foxes in their prime. But she didn’t think much of Jack, who had a fancy high-tech prosthetic leg he was always removing and leaving on a table nearby so he could show it to people and talk about it. Also, the object of Mabel’s own affections, Burt Rothchild III, had up and died the month before.
One Sunday after breakfast, Shirley and Mabel chatted on a bench in the sun.
Suddenly, Mabel screamed and pointed to an unknown man in an electric scooter, who was rolling towards the front gate of the senior home’s grounds; across his lap was a leg. The leg.
“Stop! Thief!” Mabel slowly stood, preparing to move to her scooter.
Shirley shook her head.
But Mabel lowered herself into her scooter and began rolling away at its top speed, four miles per hour.
Shirley sighed, got into her scooter, and followed at its top speed, eight miles an hour.
“You’re going too fast!” gasped Mabel.
“I’ll catch him for you!” Shirley called, rolling past.
She caught up.
“Give me that leg!” she shouted.
The man turned, and Shirley was instantly disarmed by his blue eyes and smile.
They talked. His name was Jim. The leg was a copy of Jack’s, which Jack had kindly hooked him up with. He’d be moving into the senior home soon, where he hoped they could continue the charming conversation over lime Jell-O.
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