Senior Citizen

So it happened again today. Not quite as I expected.

We walked into the grocery store and I thought, “Wow, why are all these elderly people here?” Twenty folks in wheelchairs crowded into the front just beyond the sliding doors. Then, I saw a woman with a notepad and she was making sure that the elderly folks all had someone assigned to them to help them shop. I thought, “Well, that’s really sweet.”’

I didn’t think anything more about it until Ross and I were in the checkout. I heard the twenty-something cashier say awkwardly, “I presume that at least one of you is a senior citizen?”

I replied, “Excuse me?”

She fumbled and repeated it, pointing at a badge that I couldn’t really see.

I asked, “How old?” I wanted to know the criteria for being a “senior.”

She answered, “Fifty-five and up.”

I firmly stated, “I am fifty-one.”

Whether she meant it exactly how it came out, I don’t know.

“Well, you look close enough to be one… Merry Christmas.”

Perhaps that’s not a big deal….except that thanks to my silver hair, people have mistaken me for Ross’s mother for over a decade.

Yes, I colored it once…..but that’s a story for another day.

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