Turning sixty; I'm not that kind of senior
This morning, I broke my reading glasses, first thing.
So I went to the dollar store and bought four pairs for seven bucks.
The lady insisted that I pick from her private collection which was under the counter. These glasses were two bucks each instead of one.
Oh well, what's a little splurge on a girl's 60th birthday?
In my younger, pre-senior days, I would have taken the glasses-breaking-thing as an omen of doom. But today I saw it as an opportunity to get reading specs in a variety of colors.
They'll match the bedazzled sweat suits that are on my bucket list which includes among other things, bus trips to yarn factories, sing-a-longs, bingo games, mall walking, visits to the Experimental Farm to take in some corn shucking demonstrations and flower arranging.
Oh, let me clarify.
That's the bucket list of things I have no intention of doing now that I've entered the sixth decade.
I'm not that kind of senior.
I am an arrested 17-year-old who can't wait for weed to be legalized.
I play video games, and I'm learning French on an iPhone app.
I mix patterns intentionally.
I recently got a hair style that makes me look like Joan Jett, or Rod Stewart, I'm not sure which.
This afternoon, I intend on getting pissed as a newt with some of my old friends from the National Press Club. I just have to make sure I have some Depends in case I pee myself.
You see, I'm not one of those little old ladies who gets a blue perm and meets her clones for pinnacle.
I'd rather have the worms play pinnacle on my snout than do anything that involves cards.
I'm not into yoga, either.
Nobody's going to stuff me into a pair of tights, or get me to Zoomba.
Give me a marg, put on the Apple Music, and watch me dance as if everyone is watching, cause I just don't give a shit.
There is nothing that is genteel about this old bitch.
Be warned, I just get worse with age.
In these 60 years, I've learned a few things. (Forgive me, in advance for meandering.
This mind, it seems, has a mind of its own.)
Now sit down and listen, don't let me repeat myself cause I'll probably lose the thread.
- Keep in shape. The most important thing a person can do is to keep her body in shape in case the Grim Reaper happens by.
- Eat properly. Eat salads made of stuff people used to throw out in the garbage: kale, broccoli stems, all that crap that my Grandad would have put in the compost.
- Poop regularly. Remember that the stuff you put in your mouth must come out the other end efficiently. Otherwise, it will make a nest around your navel.
- Drink moderately. Oh, just do the best you can.
- Walk. At least 10,000 steps a day or die trying.
- Love and live for your family. They really are the only people who will care for you when you smell bad.
- Laugh long and loud. Think you can't do it? Look, here's a baby!
I am so grateful to have been given the chance to live this long without being taken out by a major health care calamity, or worse, a toilet seat from the Space Station.
There have been a few near misses, and I'm grateful to God and Son for watching out for me on a half dozen memorably dark days.
My very best wishes to all of those who have read this blog over these many years.
May you enjoy good health, wealth and happiness in the future.
With Donald Trump around, you'll need all the help you can get.