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Friday
Jul092010

senior moment

Does this card make my hand look old? Last week, I realized my husband and I had become senior citizens. I'd suggested that we try a nearby restaurant's Monday night deal: A whole lobster, plus side dishes and soup or salad for $25.

"Let's go to Lobster Night!" I'd proposed, giddy at the promise of a bargain. He was game, as long as we could eat early—say, six or six-thirty—because he'd skipped lunch and was hungry. Which is how we wound up wearing matching plastic bibs, splitting a lobster in full daylight, like an elderly couple enjoying the early bird special.

And then it dawned on me: We were an elderly couple enjoying the early bird special.

I should probably explain: I am not really a senior citizen (though I certainly aspire to be one someday). Neither is my husband, although he, twelve years and a demographic generation older than I, has for several years been getting mail solicitations from the AARP. It had never occured to me that he wouldn't toss the offending come-ons like the other, youth-obsessed Baby Boomers. Then, the day after the Lobster Night incident, searching the Internet for a bargain on a rental car for a ladies' camping trip I'm taking in August (which—good heavens!—includes an RV), I looked up to find him holding out a membership card.

"It's from the AARP. I joined a couple of months ago. You can use it to get a rental discount," he crowed, and I took the card with shock because, dear reader, IT HAD MY NAME ON IT.

That's right. I, the dewy-ish bride of an older man, am now an official, card-carrying member of the AARP.

And my husband and I truly are living a retiree life, albeit for the summer: I have cut back on the journalism grind to work on a third book—which has me on a fixed income. He is has been working from home for the past couple of weeks. We've retreated to our vacation home in Connecticut, where I have taken up sewing and my husband alternates between puttering around the house and getting underfoot.

But that's not all. In the mornings, I eat a grandmotherly, roughage-filled breakfast. After that, while all the youngsters are working, I hit the gym, along with the other seniors who are free in the middle of the day. I wear a sun hat religiously and—oh, dear, it keeps getting worse—recently ordered a pair of sun-protective driving gloves. In the evenings, we relax in rocking chairs on the porch and hit the hay by ten.

Come to think of it, this is a great life. It's not at all bad being a senior citizen. Maybe this week, after Lobster Night, we can even get cheap seats at the movies.

Just as long as I'm in bed by ten.

 

Reader Comments (2)

i'm cool with all of this so long as you're still wearing cute shoes.

Fri, July 9, 2010 | Unregistered Commentermel

I'm concerned about the gloves. Unless they are hot pink & spandex, unlike the ones in the photo. Otherwise, I'm fine with relaxing, early bedtimes and discounts!

Fri, July 9, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterNatalie

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