"Where are the sunburns of yesteryear?"
She queried, wistfully.
"On your countenance, I fear, my dear."
He riposted.
"This spot, you mean? What have I done
I ask?"
She asked.
"Better to have basked and lost than never to have basked."
He rejoined.
"Out damned spot. Out, out, I say."
She demanded.
"With advancing years, there is always the dermatologist
to pay."
He advised.
"What's that you say? Is it the dreaded
melanoma?"
She questioned quiveringly.
"More likely, the more commonplace basal cell carcinoma."
He opined.
"God, how I hate common ailments. What
now, radiation?"
She supposed.
"I reckon so. I'll drive you to the zapping station."
He reckoned and proposed.
"Why don't we start out old and keep
getting younger? Now that would be an advance."
She advanced.
"Except for skin, I think we do. In the end, we babble and
toddle and wet our pants."
He suggested.
"After your treatment, you'll get a
reward. I'll buy you a puppy, an Irish Setter."
He offered.
"I can always count on you to make me feel ever so much better."
She concluded tearfully.
Obviously, an emotional older gal.