Time to Drink the Kool-Aid

Lately, I’m doing everything I can think of to avoid thinking about the reality of life: it’s just too crushing. Like today I filled salt and pepper shakers. Actually that’s a lie. I just filled one pepper shaker. That was all the energy I could work up.

I went on an interview with a job placement group last week and felt like Methuselah at a frat party. Although I’ve actually never been to a frat party, but since I’m so damned ancient I can get away with saying things like that.

How old am I? This past Labor Day weekend was our 29th anniversary. My Mom called to impart good wishes and I thanked her but gently reminded her that our anniversary wasn’t until the next day. She asked, “Isn’t today the sixth?” By jingies it was our anniversary and we didn’t even know it. I went to get my cards out of the car and came back into the house to give them to Jack but he was nowhere to be found and he didn’t answer my calls. Then I heard him running down the stairs. I flew out the back but he was gone. Nothing like waiting until the last minute to make a romantic trip to the grocery for cards and flowers, Captain Obvious! But just kidding. I applaud his effort. This tendency is exactly why I like to go to card counters on Valentine’s Day, stand behind a group of men and yell out, “Procrastinators!” I’ve gotten some great reactions.

But don’t think I’m insensitive. Today I was coming back from an errand and playing the soundtrack to "The Departed." I was listening to the Irish song where the lead is yelling out “I’ve a sailor’s peg, ‘cause I lost my leg. Climbing on the topsail, I lost my leg!” I noticed that the car next to me had a handicapped sticker so I rolled up my window. Thoughty of me, right?

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve decided to pepper my language with old geezer type words since that’s what everyone has made me feel like lately. Maybe I should start calling interviewers, “Whippersnappers” and asking them where I am over and over again. I interviewed a guy (over the phone) for a magazine article the other day. I knew he was young by his voice and also by the fact that I’d seen his picture on the company’s Web site. Since he couldn’t see my Dorian Grey reflected-in-the-mirror hideous image, he didn’t know my age because I hadn’t called him a "young man" or referred to other ancient things like the Beatles. He was describing a Seniors Day event that his facility put on for “baby boomers” and he actually said this, “You know. We want them to know that they can still do things besides plan their funerals.”

Wow, good to know. He actually inspired me to put down my Funerals ‘R Us Planning guide, but only long enough to fill one pepper shaker. Now, I’m exhausted.