I know that I will be 43 in less than two weeks, and to my own children, their friends, and my students who do not even see me as a human being, that’s old. Frankly, I don’t really think it is, and I definitely do not feel old. Right now, in fact, I am sporting pigtails, and you cannot sport pigtails if you are old. It just doesn’t happen.
Nonetheless, today I received TWO very disturbing emails, emails that tend to make me think that not everyone thinks I am as young as I feel.
Umm, really? The AARP wants me to join? What would be the point? I am not even close to fifty! If I do some quick math, I come to realize that fifty is 2568 days away! That is a mighty long time– time for me to act like the non-AARP person that I am. So please, AARP, email again on December 26, 2019. We can talk then.
This email took the cake! I mean, really, I know I am a little slow with the shoveling, and I don’t exercise as much as I used to do, but am I really in that bad of shape that the Scooter Store thinks I am a candidate for this contraption? I guess it would be a pretty nifty way to get to and fro, and I guess it would be nice knowing that I would get the handicap parking at the mall, but, I am not George Costanza! I take pride in working hard; I am not trying to weasel my way out of work. To prove how much I don’t need this machine, not only did I shovel my driveway, but I shoveled my neighbor’s as well. Take that, Scooter Store! I may be sore in the morning, but I will walk to the bathroom to apply Ben Gay, not drive there!
Yes, I declare that I am still in my prime, and if anyone else wants to email me about how old I am, well, they can go pound salt!
Oh shucks, that last statement is kind of dated and sounds old.
Darn it. Shucks sounds old, too.
Crap.
Life As I Understand It. 