https://x.com/banyantree931/status/1918924212838019378?t=toTZu-WvsptIciG3GTbxew&s=09
2) #modeststories
i] At sixty-two, I’m rattling around my creaky country house, just me, the mice, and a squirrel I’ve named Sir Nutsalot. City life’s behind me—swapped stilettos for boots caked in questionable mud.
ii] So, I started vlogging on "Silver Sufferer", with all my fingers up and into something, with as realistic simple stories, to realize & laugh out old age stereotypes. “Wrinkles don’t stop this train,” I snort, wrestling my phone camera like it’s a greased potato.
iii] Mornings, I film my gardening flops. Planting peach saplings, I face-planted into a compost pile, emerging like a swamp monster. “Instant facial mask!” I crowed to my viewers.
iv] My flowerbeds? Roses, daisies, and weeds I call “nature’s rebels.” Cooking’s a comedy show—I vlogged a quiche that exploded into charcoal confetti. “Gourmet ash, anyone?” I grinned, feeding it to my gourme compost , which seem to enjoy rotting in the past!
v] Life hacks? Oh, I’m a guru. Leaky roof? Slap a bucket under it and call it “indoor zen fountain.” No internet? I bribe Sir Nutsalot with peanuts for gossip.
vi] My fans eat up the self-deprecation—like when I swapped flour for powdered sugar and baked a cake that tasted like regret. “Sweeter than my dating history,” I quipped.
vii] Stereotypes about grannies? Garbage. I’m not knitting doilies—I’m hauling mulch and cursing when my knees stage a sit-in. And finding "Dhoomwati" ancient godess!
viii] My vlogs spill old tales: like when I moonwalked at a barn dance and ripped my jeans, or flubbed a speech but saved it with a fart noise. “Aging’s just chaos with better stories,” I wink.
ix] This quiet life’s my jam. My saplings stretch, my roses sass, and my subscribers cackle at my hot mess. Vlogging’s my funhouse mirror, showing a gal who’s lived, loved, and still giggles when she trips over her own ego.
x] All kinds of mixed up plants & friendships grow, flowers bloom, and my subscribers—bless ’em—cheer my quirks.
Vlogging’s my mirror, reflecting a woman who’s lived, loved, and still laughs at her own glorious mess.
