Sometimes just the smell of peanut butter is enough to get me going.

Why am I so old? How, you ask, can I possibly still be alive? Well, I'll tell ya: It's all about the peanut butter.

Before I go to bed, I dab about a spoonful on my gums. You know, like Mr. Ed. And then in the morning, a generous helping goes on the cat for good luck. In the early evening, if I remember, I chase down grandma because some goes on her forehead. (It's a little trick we learned at the Forever Lodge.) I feel sad when grandma runs away. She can't help it. She doesn't realize that I'm keeping her alive and I sure won't be telling her about our secret salve of longevity. But it's all right.

So I rushed out to the P.B. stash in the P.B. shed, because grandma was in the bath and couldn't stop me this time. I got so giddy and excited that I tripped and fell in the yard on the soft grass. The neighborhood chickens swarmed all over me then. For the love of Pete, one of 'em took my coin purse and ran off into the roses. He knows I can't get him in there.

I tried repeatedly to get up but by the time my arms were finally straightened out, the chickens would all clump together and pile on my back. Well, they had me doin' push-ups for damn near an hour. Soon I fell asleep without my P.B.