Old

I don't really mind getting old/er myself; I don't actually feel any older than I did when I was 18 or so. Well, not much older... No, what truly bothers me is everyone getting old around me. What is it with these people, anyway?

Kids, for instance. One day they're born, the next day they're leaving home to seek their fortunes. When/How did that happen?

And then there are all those other people. You know the ones. They started out just as ordinary people. The next thing you know they are gray-headed and wrinkled and stooped over, with gnarly, spotted hands.

I may not feel any older, but those newly old people around me must be looking at me the way I look at them. Here's evidence:

• Just before we hit Highway 17K in New York to come home, we stopped to eat lunch at Denny's. While trying to decipher the menu, I happened to look at the back page. "Senior Menu" it proclaimed. Must be 55 or older. I pointed it out to my Man. Unlike the multi-page menu for the rest of the population, this one was easy. One page. Large print. Smaller prices. Choices, but not toooo many choices. He being 55 or older, we decided to order from this page, and when our waitress came back, she did not bat an eye. Just took our requests without even asking to see our ID's! I can only guess that she must have thought we looked the part.
• Shortly after we got home, I was driving M's car, the one with the expired inspection sticker, and was pulled over by the police. First time ever in my life! I threw myself on his mercy and explained that we had just gotten home from out of town (true), and we were on our way to a funeral (also true). Fortunately everything else was in order~registration, insurance, driver's license~so he sent me off with a written warning and an admonition to "be sure and get that done on Monday." I took a couple of deep breaths and proceeded to our destination. Well, on our way, my Man read my warning to me: DL#, DOB, Eye Color: green, Hair Color: grey.... Hair color GREY?!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO...
• But the very worst thing of all is having to wear glasses. Having never worn glasses before, having to get used to wearing them now is a real nuisance. They make me hot, they pinch my head, they pull my hair, and I can rarely find them, even though I have five pairs of them. You would think, wouldn't you, with that many of them floating around the house, that at least one of them would turn up. But no. They buddy up and manage to connect somehow, and then they hide out together in some obscure corner. So you find them all, or you find them none.
  

A few days ago, the Blue-Eyed Boy was here and somehow or other, "looking old" came up. I asked him if we looked old. He promptly said, "No." And then just as promptly he amended, "Well, except for Papa. He looks old." Whew! Dodged that bullet. But it reminded me, once again, that you should never, never, never ask a question if you don't really, really, really want the answer. Especially of a child.