I know that you thought I would be over this by now. Heck, I thought I would be over it by now; but
sometimes things have a way of rearing their ugly head again when you’re least
I think all of life’s grand events should have a grace period; a time of
becoming familiar, comfortable; a time of reckoning to get it together. You
know, like when you become pregnant, even if it was planned or a surprise, you
and your partner have nine months to get ready; mentally and emotionally. Or
when you get married; usually there is an engagement period that lasts for
several months or in some cases, years!
Well I didn’t get any of that. I mean sheesh, suddenly it was here, and it was mine to claim and own. And I was right in the middle of trying to do that, to be a grown up about it. Embrace it. But never expecting to be thrown into the deep end of the pool, knowing full well I haven’t quite mastered swimming yet, just to watch me fight my way back to air and life.
Exactly 57 days later, I opened my mailbox and there it was, the dreaded 2 x 2 piece of plastic that will allow me hotel discounts, restaurant discounts, and even a free tote bag. As long as I am willing to tell everyone I encounter that I am now part of the “Fifty and Over” club. But I’ll tell you one dang thing, THEY know it’s going to make the recipient feel bad; because it comes in an envelope that is completely white on the outside with no return address or hint of what’s inside or about to cause its holder to hyperventilate once they open it. They don’t WANT you to know beforehand; because the odds of you trashing it before you open it are too great.
AARP = Absolutely Agonizingly Real Proof …..that you’re old. I know, I know, I have had all kind of people reciting its wonderful benefits and all the money I could save by using it. But I’m telling you right now; I’m not far enough into this nifty fifty deal that I will be saying it out loud to hotel clerks, in crowded restaurants, or before I board a plane anytime soon.
I mean seriously; I am still coloring my hair to stay thirty-nine for at least ten more years! And you can believe, somebody “cards” me for any reason, that ain’t the card I’m yanking out to show! I’m not even ready to tote it around much less show it to anyone for proof of anything!
Six months. I think that’s fair. Let me gently roll into this whole “I’m fifty years old deal” gracefully and elegantly. Not grasping for paper bags to blow into or buying new mailbox lids to replace the one I snatched off the hinges. I’m really trying to be a proper lady; help me succeed.