My friend Carla and I always said that once we hit 65, we were retiring to Florida and bagging groceries at adjoining registers at the Piggly-Wiggly. It was between that and wearing a turban, drinking martinis by the pool and banging the pool boy.
Now that I'm married, so the pool boy scenario is out. The Piggly Wiggly is still a strong prospect, as is the Slackmistress' Home for Elderly Pit Bulls. Maybe somewhere in there Will and I will become the couple at the ballpark who shakes their angry fist at those damned kids while gumming our shared bag of peanuts.
Today I had my first eye exam in four years so they insisted on dilating my pupils*. I forgot my sunglasses, so I had to rock the little old lady sunglasses for the way home.
The Ghost of Christmas Future:
Part Roy Orbison, part Whatever-Happened-to-Baby-Jane?
What kind of old person d'you want to be?
*Check out the email I sent Will from my Blackberry here. And please use the term "afterboob" at least once today.
