My latest issue of The New Yorker came in yesterday and I was thrilled to see an new David Sedaris essay waiting within. It is titled Memento Mori and I'll share with you my favorite paragraph from it.
One moment he’s an elderly Frenchwoman, the one I didn’t give my seat to on the bus. In my book, if you want to be treated like an old person, you have to look like one. That means no face-lift, no blond hair, and definitely no fishnet stockings. I think it’s a perfectly valid rule, but it wouldn’t have killed me to take her crutches into consideration.
Here's the link while it's still up: Memento Mori