By Sheila Edee


Hello? Hello? Earth calling Besties . . . contact! . . . 10-4. . . .


If I only had one of my grandson’s LED space helmets, I could win any costume contest imaginable.


Of course, this black magic “appliance” – a back brace — is doing its job, keeping me erect and very conscious of . . . well, everything.


There is a little pocket on the back of the “backpack,” which I fear carries a bunch of batteries, which could propel me skyward if one of these Velcro straps is pulled.


It will be a steep learning curve for me to know what to grab, when. As in, pull down strap, pull out and then up.


No! No! Not THAT strap . . . the shorter one. Although I feel very constrained and self-conscious, I better get over that fast.


Well, I’m on my way. Just hope I can remember to stand straight, so I don’t have to tighten this strap . . . no! The bigger one. . . .


One issue the instruction manual doesn’t address:


Since this brace stops just south of the breastbone, I don’t know what to do with The Girls. It is surreal to have cleavage again (even if cleavage resembles a peach pit).


So, I wiggle into the brace, lean forward, throw The Girls over the edge, slap the Velcro straps together, and exhale. Those Girls won’t know what hit ‘em.


Over and out!


(Sheila Edee is one of The Elderberries, a team of writers of senior humor whose first book is due out later this year)


By Sheila Edee | | The Elderberries | © 2017