Tough

This may come as a shocking revelation to some who think that they know me.

But here it is.

I am not really the sweet, kindly old grandma that I appear to be to all/most/some??? 

Okay, one or two of my readers.

In fact, I am the leader of a gang. 

The TOBs.

Which stands for Tough Old Broads.  

To qualify as a TOB one must meet certain strict requirements.

    Be over 70 years old.
    Have a Black Belt in karate.
    Be oblivious to snickering.

Our gang also consists of several younger acolytes.

We meet twice a week.

Which gives me plenty of time to inculcate in them the attitudes and abilities to be vicious, merciless self-defenders.

And also defenders of the less capable, etc.

This week we were put to the test.

And we surpassed even our own expectations.

We had gathered for our class.

One of our TOBs shouted.

“What are you doing in here? Get out. Now”

The others of us rushed to her aid.

We chased that mouse around a bit, and finally clamped an empty trash can over him.

I called the office and explained.

The conversation went something like this:

Office:  “You can just go ahead and kill it?”

TOB:    “Kill it?”

Office:  “Or throw it outside.”

TOB:    “Outside? It's below zero out there!”

It er, uh, somehow got away.

Probably, we need to reevaluate our gang's descriptive title?