I have fought life for, well…my whole life.
I eat healthier than most anyone I know.
(At least 90% of the time.)
(I mean, there IS that occasional mac and cheese, moon pie and well, there’s wine. Ok, Ok. There’s wine. Get off my back.)
I do the stupid treadmill. Up to an hour sometimes. (Refer back to all the crap above I can’t live without.)
I lather up in enough sunscreen as if I’m going to physically walk on the sun nude.
I wear my seatbelt. (Never mind the speed I drive, but I do buckle up.)
Last month, when I hit 45…I revolted. I refused it. I slammed the door in it’s face then called momma sobbing, “Is this all there is to life? What am I doing? Where am I going? How do I know if I’m doing anything right? Did you feel this way at 45? Is it normal to want to kick life in the teeth sometimes? Will this crap go away? Will it be like this forever? Help me, momma…help me! Oh, wait. I gotta go…just got home and nobody is here so I can watch all of my DVR’d Judge Judy shows totally uninterrupted!! Later!”
(I hope you used your most dramatic, most heaviest southern twang you could muster in your head when you read all that.)
(Now bump it up a couple of decibels because it was Oscar worthy.)
I know. I’m a simple creature.
Keith is fully aware of this. He knows I have absolutely no intentions on getting a year older and I will never, EVER be old enough to get a senior citizen discount.
I won’t take THAT discount just like when a kid is 12 and they want to eat off the adult menu and not off that dumb paper kid menu with the crayons and idiot puzzles on it.
Nope. Not. Doing it.
He’s asked me how I plan on not getting older.
“Uh, I’m just not. It’s pretty much that easy. It’s my life. Not going to do it. You can…go ahead…I don’t care. I ain’t. This is it. You’re gonna one day be that creepy old guy with the wrinkly skin and fedora with the 45 year old wife. I’m hanging out riiiiight here.”
He turned 50 in February.
Fine by me. Go right ahead. Get old, buzzard. Have a party.
I’m scrolling through Facebook last night. Just about ready to go to bed and I scroll down and see this:
THIS is how he broke it to me.
That I had an official AARP card. Yes. Me.
I immediately started with, “Whuuuuuut? Whuuut, whuuuut?? What the hell is THIS?”
He slowly strolled from the bathroom over to his side of the bed like a friggin strutting peacock. All proud and impressed with himself.
I, however, was not impressed. Nor amused.
He announced it to the world PRIOR to announcing it to me.
Or my ego.
(However, I did acknowledge his wittiness has come a long way since marrying me.)
(But using it against me is thoroughly explained in the marriage rule book under chapter “How to Keep Your Wife from Gutting your Nuts.”)
I took a Xanax.
I mean, it would have been less obvious if I just painted it on the side of my car in hot pink paint. Then outlined it in black. And then painted little black and hot pink zebra stripes on the hood.
That would not look anywhere out of the ordinary here in Austin.
This morning, I decided to just see. You know, just see.
So, I clicked on the web site. You know. While I had my hot tea and oatmeal.
(The oatmeal, not hot tea. Who would put cranberries in their hot tea? Come on, stay with me here.)
I GET DISCOUNTS ON TRAVEL AND MOVIES AND CONCERTS AND HOTELS AND AIRFARE AND DINNERS AND HEELS AND LIPSTICK AND NAIL POLISH AND HEELS AND LIPSTICK AND NAIL POLISH AND HEELS AND LIPSTICK AND NAIL POLISH!!!
All because HE’S getting old! Sounds fair to me!
Let me tell you, this discount crap is gonna cost him way more than not having this discount crap at all!
I believe it’s called ‘backfire.’ Yes…I do believe that’s the term.
So, honey…if you’re reading this…get the luggage down from the top of your closet.
(And I get the big piece we never use.)
Cause we’re gonna take advantage of this you getting old stuff and momma’s gonna live it up!
And I’m going to Denny’s for dinner. I hear that Early Bird Special is the bomb dot com. You are free to join me. I’ll be the one waving my little red and white card around barking out, “He might be getting old but I’m not…bring me more bacon!”