Absolutely Not Getting Any Younger

I received a birthday card some years ago with a cartoon of a marching band on the front that said "TIME MARCHES ON..." and then when I opened it the inside page continued "...YOUR FACE."

Tender sentiments like that always choke me up.

You may recall a blog I did some time ago titled The Day I Became Old in which I bemoaned the inevitable toll that the passing years take. Trust me, things aren't getting any better.

I was pointedly reminded of this recently while shopping at the drugstore. Walgreens had a sale on bottled water, so I loaded my cart with seven cases and pushed it into the parking lot. As I started loading the cases into the side door of my van, a thirty-something woman who was walking by stopped and sincerely asked, "Can I help you with that, sir?"

She was so earnest and polite, I didn't hold against her the fact that she had just made me feel about 100 years old. Plus, I reasoned, I might really live long enough that I will appreciate offers like that sometime in the future, so I had better learn to be more gracious.

"Thanks for asking," I said cheerfully, "but I'm fine."

It's just a matter of time before Girl Scouts start helping me across the street.

I've lost count of how many people have asked me if I am retired. In my dreams! Unfortunately, I have worked in the real world, where the majority of Americans work, and we don't have a union pension or the option of retiring after 25 or 30 years. We work, and live economically, and save, and hope we can accumulate enough to "retire" to part-time employment once we are old enough to draw whatever is left of our Social Security.

A while back I was at the grocery store. The cashier couldn't find the code for my Romaine lettuce, and since I buy it all the time, I remembered it and told her what it was. My knowledge of produce impressed the sack-boy, who had to be all of 16 years old.

"Dude," he said, "you should get a job here part-time."

I just laughed. "Man, my life is so busy, the last thing I need is another job!"

The kid looked at me incredulously, and in all innocence said, "You mean you still work?"

Ouch!

Dear Lord, I sincerely hope I wasn't that annoying when I was sixteen...but I probably was.