She is tall and tan and old and lovely. She is the lady of Carolina.
My mother walks the beach and no one sees the beautiful woman she is anymore.
She does not look like a porkette, but she worries about her weight at 71.
Her short grayish hair offsets her French tan.
Her skin has dark spots and white spots now and her once perky boobs have fallen, yet she still has her legs.
She has a magnifying mirror to help her put on her makeup every day.
She keeps her French manicure well-maintained.
She smells of chapstick, lavender, and nicotine.
Happy Birthday, lady of Carolina. You are beautiful.