We are turning 55 in about a month and we are not happy. We now must come face to face with a lot of unpleasant realities. Namely,
In a short time, we will be fully qualified to order off of the senior citizen’s menu at Denny’s (a fact the three grown children remind us of on a regular basis). We don’t care much for the senior citizen’s menu largely from a vanity standpoint. Ordering the Senior Slam® forces us to admit to an age and point in life where people think they need to give us a discount. We think we would rather order the Original Slam®, avoid the truth, and preserve our ego.
We are getting more mail from AARP® and an assortment of other senior citizen groups that we really do not want to talk to. We wonder if there is some master “old goat” list that tells AARP and all the other senior focused groups how and where to find us. It must be part of the proverbial “right wing conspiracy” we hear so much about.
We can no longer talk in terms of what we will do when we grow up. For some odd reason, 55 seems to be the age when we are “grown up.” We dispute this theory on the thought that many men and women accomplished their greatest feats after the age of 55. We are informed by the wife that we can no longer use this excuse. This from the one whose motto is “she who must be obeyed.” We always thought that this applied only to the kids and are surprised to learn it also applies to us.
We also notice there are more medicines in our cabinet now. There’s stuff for blood pressure, cholesterol, the all important vitamin D, and the 50+ specialty vitamin. We don’t like this either because now we have to have a special little box to store each day’s pills in so we don’t forget to take something. We aren’t going to waste our time and/or money on Rogaine or any of the other “lifestyle” pills and such like that. We will not go there.
We are looked at by the younger people we have in our network as either a wizened veteran or a washed out old goat. We can never tell which and we’re not sure we want to know anyway. They laugh at us when we forget stuff and we remind them that they too will be in their fifties someday. It is an embarrassing thing to call the receptionist in the other building and tell her to remind you why you came over when you get there (yes, this has actually happened). There have been enough jokes about memory loss for those past 50. We don’t need anymore here.
Finally, we don’t really know why we’re writing in the first person plural.