HOW I KNOW I AM A PREMATURE COOT.
At work the other day I had to come to the
shocking obvious realization that I am actually 87 years old.
1. I listen to NPR willingly as my source of news and to escape current radio.
2. Last week my AARP membership came in the mail.
3. I own lots of tea.
4. I own lots of sensible sweaters.
5. When sending A to the grocery store to pick up sale Quaker cereal, he could choose the new and delicious Oatmeal Squares or the guilty kiddie favorite Cap’n Crunch. I have two boxes of the Squares in the cupboard.
6. I know what the expressions “pig in a poke” and “two step” mean.
7. I work EARLY on Sunday mornings. Kids like to par-tay on Saturday nights. Henceforth I am often laying in bed, silently (as A is asleep and I win the gold medal in passive aggression) RAGING as I listen to hooligans blast their hot beats and shout at each other about their pre-med degrees. I often think to myself, “Should I start knocking on doors and explaining to them I have to be awake in a few hours for work?”, “Should I call the police for a noise complaint?”, “Can I scrounge up enough booze for a malatov cocktail?” But in the end I just plot and steam and eventually my ferociousness tuckers me plum out.
8. I do all the obnoxious Sunday paper things–crossword, coupons and scattering it all over the apartment.
9. I cannot read with my glasses on. I have to lower them and peer over the frames. UGH.
10. My right foot is killing me and I’m finally going to the doctor. Wish me luck! Perhaps they will give me a cane.