I live with my beautiful bride, Judy, and a cranky old man named My Self. Sometimes, when I rise early for my 45-minute walk, Self tells me, “You can’t go out and walk today. Your knee hurts.” “Well, we’re going out anyway,” I reply. “I’m just trying to say your right knee is going to be weak,” Self says. “You might fall.” Self knows how I hate falling down. “Be that as it may,” says I, “we’re going. Self doesn’t like to exercise, though he always feels better after it. Self also likes to eat foods that are bad for…

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