“Okay, we’ll pay for dinner and you can pay for the movie,” I said to Elliott, during an outing that he and his girlfriend had invited us in Carytown.
We hustled off to Bow-Tie Cinemas to see what some folks our age may seem inappropriate, as I observed, while I was laughing continuously; the older folks down the row never broke a smile. I think they misunderstood the title.
While buying the tickets, Elliott showed a student ID and got $2 off the price of he and his date’s admission. He turned to Linda and I and said, “Hey you got your tickets with a $3 discount.”
“How’s that,” I asked Elliott and the ticket seller at the same time.
“Senior citizens discount,” the young kid behind the counter said.
“How do these seniors prove they’re really seniors?”
“We ask for their Medicare card.”
I then called him a young expletive and we headed into the movie after a $3 discount. Maybe I can get into this senior citizen discount thing. I could work this scam right to the bank, swindling on whomever would fall for it, why not. You know the last time I was a senior was when I was still in school.
It’s definitely tough getting old. Facelifts, Hair for Men, Preparation H, new hips, new knees, new worries about Social Security (and Medicare so you can get that card) and early afternoon dinners so you can get the senior discount and still get to bed early.
It doesn’t seem to bother women, but a lot of men are too proud to admit they are aging. I’ve been getting solicitations from AARP for about 10 years and I don’t open the envelope saying, “I don’t know why they keep wasting paper on me, I know I’m too young to qualify. Then, into the trash the AARP goes. How rude to pigeon hole me with a bunch of gray hairs. I came by mine naturally and it has more to do with worrying than with age; that’s what I’m saying and I’m sticking to it.
I’ve become a real movie aficionado lately. I never watch movies that aren’t in black and white, at least on TV, AMC is my favorite channel, and I have found Benny Goodman’s music to be something I can really relate to.
Sometimes I feel like one of the crunchy leaves that an old oak tree sheds before the winter, at least after I get the senior discount at the movies without asking for it.
And the cold. An Ensure commercial claims that you lose eight percent of muscle tone every 10 years. As I get weaker, I wonder if your tolerance to air-conditioning is the same. Linda and I stopped for dinner at the OG as my daughter calls it, (Olive Garden and don’t get excited, we’re not getting an OG in Chester) and I thought it was so cold in there that you could’ve hung meat in there. There was a cold wind blowing across the tops of the booths like a Nor’easter in February. But women get a break on such things. They can pull out a sweater and get comfortable but if I were to have pulled out my favorite cardigan, there would have been eyes raised high enough to ruin Joan Rivers facelift.
My grandkids are no longer scampering around my feet; they are big and articulate enough to ask for loan. And I no longer scamper, nor do I give out loans. Age can be a cruel, sneaky little bugger. Time rolls along ever so slowly when you’re a youngster, (see I’m even using words like youngster) it seemed like it took forever for Christmas to arrive, waiting for the latest Tonka track loader and dump truck or the latest Easy Bake Oven – I really enjoyed the cakes I could produce in my little oven.
So what’s up, now time flies by faster than a Lear Jet, you’re married, you have children, you watch them grow and enjoy each of their milestones, watch them graduate, have the grandkids and then you’re back to babysitting like you did when you were a teenager. But your body doesn’t feel like a teenager, your mind does, at least you think like you’re in your 20s.
So, as I was saying I feel like a 20-year-old living in a 60-year-old body and then there’s the issue of… oh never mind, I forgot what I was going to say.