On my Promotion to Senior Citizen

One would think it odd that I do not remember the date nor place when I received elevation to the coveted status of Senior Citizen. It must have been such a bash; maybe I passed out drunk, but that makes it even more mysterious, since I haven’t imbibed in decades and the smell of marijuana has always been as repulsive to me as another’s flatulence. How could I not remember so important an event?  Folks I meet, seem very much aware of, and do their best to gently help my recollection. This problem would not have occurred had they given me a certificate like they did at my birth, my vaccinations, graduations and my marriages. Everything but Senior Citizen. Now, they tell me that I have only one more certificate to get. They tell me that the document is given to a family member. Why?

Relatives and friends are all nice about it. For them they know that there was a date. My granddaughter swears that it was when I put three tablespoons of salt in her coffee, stirred almost briskly and offered it to her.  Another disputes that date. He, my son, said it was when  drivers blasted their horns aback of no other car but mine as I drove  listening to National Public Radio’s pledge drive.

Whatever the date of my promotion, I swear it did happen. Proof is the first arrival of a welcome letter from AARP. It seemed that they were concerned that I needed friends. Later, every week it seemed, they colluded with others to bombard me with photos of two smiling people holding hands as they stroll along a beach empty for miles, or sail a calm sea where there are no other boats. I suspected a trick because no one was bald, bent, paunchy, short, round of face, Asian or…well, I’ll not go there.  Whatever they might have done, it prompted lots of cheerful missives and telephone calls from healthcare providers, insurance companies never heard about, investment lunch invitations and some people with somber voices asking to assist me with something they called “final moments”. Ever heard of that? It has something to do with small pieces of expensive land described as green and shady. Puzzling, indeed. Not until my promotion, were so many people trying to get me a place to “rest”. I never said that I’m tired.

With all this attention from so many people, happy to call me everyday, it remains elusive the answer to why ladies get all huffy at me, a certified Senior Citizen, when I wink at them. The gall!

 

Advertisements