What's more joyful than a child skipping down the sidewalk? One of my co-workers told me about when she and her son left a recent parent teacher conference and he broke into spontaneous skipping. You could tell he was one happy little camper.
Adults don't skip down the street unless they're acting in a Viag*a commercial. What's the grownup version of skipping? Whistling? And why don't we skip? When did we stop? What would it take to get you to skip? New knees? A lottery win? A wee bit of wine? Someone's got to think about these things.
Life's a Stitch 
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