The guy at the hardware store who helped me find the mousetraps, and carry them to the checkout counter (I hadn’t bothered with a cart) said, “I don’t want to call you out or anything, but on Thursdays we have 10% off, for…(lowers voice) older people.”
“I’ll tell my mother,” I said. (My mother has been gone for nearly 10 years). “But how ancient to you have to be to get the discount? Can I just show my grey hair?” He shrugged.
For the record, I have very little grey hair.
Which meant there was something else about me that made it obvious to this guy that I might be eligible for a “senior” discount.
Oh, my God.
I’ve been being “ma’am”ed rather than “miss”ed for decades now, and that’s OK with me. It’s a recognition of my maturity, and possibly my matronly bearing.
But damn, my magic mirror has been making me think I look at least ten years younger than my chronological age. I moisturize, for God’s sake, twice a day usually, and also in the foundation I wear (when I remember to put it on). I’m positively dewey, for cryin; out loud!
I use a face cream at night that none other than the New York Times, The New York Times, said had the only combination of ingredients that has actually shown any real evidence of easing the appearance of wrinkles.
And yet, there it was. I had been outed as a “senior.” Now, different establishments start offering old-age-based discounts at different ages. I knew a store that offered them to anyone 55 or older. But for the most part, I had always thought that you needed to have a Medicare card in your wallet to be called a “senior” and be eligible for all the concessions profit making organizations are willing to make to your age and suspected infirmity, not to mention your undoubted poverty. How ’bout a nice can’o’cat food, Ma’am?
I don’t dye my hair and don’t intend to, even if it goes entirely snowy white, like my Mom’s did when she hit about 88, as I remember. I haven’t had “work done” and never would, not the least because I could never afford it, but also because it just comes off as kind of pathetic.
Case in point: some of my new acquaintances from my MeetUp group were gushing about “The Golden Bachelor.” I genuinely hate reality shows, unless they are bona fide singing competitions, but one of these folks was waxing nearly poetic about that show.
So I watched the first episode.
And with the arrival of each woman after the first two or three, it got cringier and cringier. It was insufferable, unwatchable! How could anyone have thought there was merit in such ghastly displays of desperation on the part of all those women? Aaaaaaaaak!
But wait. Am I pathetic for being a little hurt, or upset, or pissed off, that I was recognized as being north of middle-aged? Or, dare I say it, old?
I don’t feel old, except when I overdo it on the yard work, and then I’m just kind of proud of being sore. It’s a badge of honor! A token of how much hard, physical labor I can still do in a day!
Next time I go to that hardware store (on a Thursday) I’ll be sure to haul something heavier than a “senior” lady is supposed to be able to lift (like maybe a 40 pound bag of ice melt), refuse all offers of help (those dumbbell workouts ain’t been for nothing), slam that sucker down on the checkout counter, and loudly demand my senior discount.
After I pay, I will shoulder that bag, jog to the car, open the back with one hand and toss that 40 pound dead weight in there with the other. Harrumph. Call me out, huh? Well, OK, I’m out–as a physically strong, undyed, un-surgically altered, hard-working helluva harridan.
But hey, thanks for that 10%, although 20% would be better. But at my age? We’re supposed to take what we can get, right?
Reminds me of a song (let me be clear that I didn’t find the store clerk the least bit attractive, with his ink sleeves up each of his arms – all I could think of is how they’re going to look when he’s my age) but why pass up a chance to link to a great tune?
Well round here baby
I’ve learned you get what you can get
so if you’re rough and ready for love
honey, I’m tougher than the rest…..
-Bruce Springsteen (I love the Shawn Colvin version)
Off to hoist some dumbbells, I remain,
your defiantly-in-denial, tougher-than-the-rest, and still-looking-younger-than I am, dammit,
Ridiculouswoman
Oh yeah! Embracing my cronedom here….
Being offered a senior discount is nothing compared to the far more blunt references to my advancing age that I have received. I have had pregnant women offer me their seat on the bus. So far, I have not accepted, but only because somebody nearby will always be embarrassed and offer me their seat instead. Keep swinging those dumbbells.
Aging is a privilege. But keep using eye cream…healthy for the skin