Sorry, Doctor's Orders
It was a quiet afternoon when George was trimming his hedge in front of his house—until a car came crashing straight through it and stopped on his lawn.
Startled, George ran over and found Mabel, a sweet lady from down the street, sitting behind the wheel looking rather pleased with herself.
“Mabel!” George exclaimed. “Are you alright? You seem a bit old to still be driving!”
“Oh, I’m fine, dear,” Mabel said proudly. “I’ll be 97 next month, and I don’t even need a driver’s license anymore.”
George blinked. “You don’t? Who told you that?”
“Well,” Mabel said, straightening her scarf, “last time I went to the doctor, he asked if I still had a driver’s license. I told him yes and handed it over. He took out a pair of scissors, cut it up, and said, ‘You won’t be needing this anymore.’ So I thanked him and drove home!”
