Get Off My Lawn!

I have no fears about growing old. I am a hopeless hypochondriac so have always felt like my days were numbered. Was truly surprised I made it to the ripe old age of 12-pretty much had myself pegged as a dead 11 year old.

I even played out my funeral in my mind. My mother wailing beside my coffin..me all young and serene looking..wearing a clean (finally) dress with my hair (finally) combed. Everyone from my class talking about how wonderful I was-it was going to be a blast! Shame I would have to be dead to participate.

So for me to finally make it to senior citizen status will be a coup! Not that I am rushing away my life (technically you can’t really do that). I am enjoying every minute of the time I have just stomping around on this earth. I guess I should say ‘I don’t dread old age’.

Now granted I mean old age minus:
Whizzing in my pants
Having debilitating illnesses
Being crazy

I mean the standard type of old farts..puttering about, retired (amazing incentive for lazy people like me). I peg this fantasy age to be 70 years old. By the time you reach 70 you don’t care what others think of you and it shows.

I want to get that fabulous old lady hairstyle. Steel grey, short with a tight tight perm..I want to wear a slash of red or bright pink lipstick on my non-existent old lady lips, I wanna be able to mutter ‘hrmphhh’ (only old people can truly get away with that).

I want to be able to demand my seniors discount. I want to be able to coo and giggle at the ‘nice looking young man’ and everyone knows it is benign and cute….or just putter about in a flower garden and drink tea from a Royal Albert tea cup…..

I will have a cat or two…and name them really obscure names from towns I have visited.

I want to be able to watch ‘Wheel of Fortune’ and screech (wrong) answers at the TV…I will have a secret crush on Pat.

I already love old people food-soft, mushy, bland and unrecognizable…mmm…and I will be able to eat all the Chips Ahoy! chocolate chip cookies I want-who cares if I gain weight? Now is the time to let loose. I will eat everything I want. Maybe I will even take up smoking-why not? So I will be dead in 20 years-who cares? I’ll be 90!


Now what kind of old person shall I be? The sweet grandmotherly type that bakes cookies and teaches young girls to ‘tat’ (not really sure what this is..think it is done with strings) or a crazy grouchy hag-all the kids whispering that I am a witch.

As the witch I shall spend my days perched in a Queen Anne chair beside my big picture window. There I lay waiting..waiting..like a cat about to pounce on a sweet bluebird….waiting for the innocent sweet child to dash into my front yard to retrieve their errant Frisbee. That’s when I get my starring role,
‘Get off my lawn, boy!’ I holler from the partially open window. Sometimes with a clenched fist waving in the air, and on more daring days I will chase them away with a broomstick (hence, the witch talk).

Once I reach 78 I will move into a retirement home. I do not mean the ones where they park the people out in a hallway..sitting in their wheelchairs..ugh..that is just awful! I mean the ones that charge 2 grand a month (I hope my boys become doctors or electricians-someones gotta pay for this).

They have movie night, and a tuck shop and an ice cream parlor! They have a big media room with giant TVs, and a whole bunch of old people toddling along….cannot wait to just sit around and complain about everything…(sitting around doing nothing is very intriguing to severely lazy people).

I am also planning on being the resident slut. Cannot wait to drop all my inhibitions and get it on with all the male residents there….that’s if my dh is dead and buried or living in Keswick with his new wife….

So, I get to be lazy, eat anything I want, get it on with complete strangers, holler at young ‘ins…be very cheap and not care what I look like…….I think I have found utopia….shame it smells like lavender and moth balls….