It’s so bizarre going to the land where there are old people as far as the eye can see. I went to the pool and it was old people soup. Other Half’s mom, aka MIL, moved to central
The old people have personalized their carts with extra cute personalized license plates from wherever they originally hailed:
Sometimes their plates espouse an entire ethos:
Sometimes their plates are obvious (because old people don’t do subtlety):
Some carts have striped awnings, others are festooned with pin-striping, or with the names of the occupants in gold letters (the man’s name always in the driving spot and the woman on the passenger side.) There are golf cart parking stalls everywhere. It gives one the sense of the Lilliputian.
Even though my MIL has yet to even hit 60, she enjoys being an “Active Adult.” She lives in an “Active Adult” community. I wonder what kinds of adults aren’t active (Maybe the 500 pound kind?) AA communities are filled with signs like “Caution: Adults at Play.” They think it’s funny, but really, you should be filled with caution because sometimes those playing AA get into their cars and drive.
Senior citz are funny. I called MIL’s husband to leave my number on his caller ID and MIL said, “Don’t bother, he doesn’t understand how to use called ID.” How do you not know how to use caller ID? It’s not like he’s a 110 and met Van Gogh once, he’s in his 60s!
Everywhere I went I was the youngest whippersnapper around. Well, me and the kids. We went to a doctor’s office and in the waiting room were old people, lots of them, in their natural habitat: reading Readers Digest, wearing double knit pants, complaining about the cold air conditioning, complaining about the humidity, and silently chewing what might be cud. The kids were great, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that because there were children, that they just existed, that they were doing something naughty.
We went to Wal-Mart (to kill a piece of my soul) because that is where old people shop. The cashier spoke in a loud voice to a woman in her late 70s informing her that she and her cart of 200 bajillion useless items were in the 10 item only line. “I KNOW THAT” she responded, “I JUST WANTED TO TAKE A LOOK AT THIS.”
The cashier had a look on his face that exhibited all the pain of creation.
I bet he has to repeat that conversation constantly. I bet the cashiers fight over who has to take the 10 item line. The Wal-Mart was even worse than it normally is: a store filled to the brim with senior citz, shopping in pairs, meandering, fighting with each other, complaining about the price of everything, carts in your way always, and shuffling.
I’m pretty sure old people, like Bengay-smelling zombies, are taking over the world. Here is my evidence:
1. I was talked into wearing a visor
2. I agreed that maybe she should get a perm for body
3. I wore Capri pants and tennis shoes (at the same time)
4. I nearly got talked into playing Pickleball
5. I heard about the history of Mah-Jongg
6. I learned that you can’t trust them Muslims (it's "in their blood")
7. I think I could really use a golf cart