I’M THIRTY-FIVE PLUS SHIPPING AND HANDLING

Immediately after receiving my Moderna booster I complimented the lovely pharmacist on her poking proficiency. When I mentioned how busy she must be, she responded with, “I sure am! But it makes the day go by so quickly… you remember how that was when you were working, right?” Yep, I do. (wait, no longer working?)

Then with band-aid applied and sleeves rolled back down I gathered my stuff, about to make my exit, when the darling pharmacist said the following, “Thank you so much for signing up online, not all of our seniors are that tech savvy”. And I repeat, “not all of our SENIORS”. Wow. No she did not.

Let me start by saying thank you for the compliment?? However, do I really need some young whipper snapper so callously implying that I am part of the generation assumed to be lacking in tech literacy? I am fully aware of my standing (age wise), but the implication that the entirety of our ‘group’ has questionable savviness is uncalled for.

Candidly, I know I occupy a seat in that group categorized as “65 or older”. It’s been made glaringly obvious on every form, application and document parked before my eyes. And what makes matters worse, I’M NO LONGER AT THE LOWEST END OF THAT CLASSIFICATION.

And whoopee – dubbed senior. AND woohoo – branded ‘over the hill’ on plates, cups, napkins, balloons and banners masquerading as clever birthday party finery.

Ergo – do I really need someone else to point it out and draw attention to it? I ALREADY KNOOOOOWWWW.

When my brain optimistically encourages me to declare myself in the population hailed as ‘Adults: 18-64’ on questionnaires it can be quite confusing when in actuality I have to check off ‘Older Adults: 65+’. Kinda, sorta like hearing about some ill-fated elderly woman on the news and subsequently realizing that said elderly person graduated HS AFTER me.

If given the choice between that judgy categorization or MY brains’ version of – “it’s not the number of candles on the cake” –  I know who I’m siding with. MY BRAIN. So stop with the reminders, insinuations and leading questions. I might be in denial – but my noggin tells me that denial is highly underrated. And I am happily inhabiting that space. Denial that is.

In previous posts, I’ve blathered on about my many thoughts on aging:

my aversion to it *

the maintenance of it *

the reluctance of it *

but nevertheless…

my appreciation* for the continuance of it! (and for a few bits and pieces doing their damnedest to defy gravity)

So to formally recognize the positive, let’s cut to the appreciation part:

My annual appointment with my gynecologist was mostly typical; all the requisite questions, all the predictive prodding. There was some reference to the Sahara Desert on my part. And then, and I don’t mean to brag, my doctor gave me something to write home about.

Upon further examination she may have said something about the ‘eighth wonder of the world’ or some such revelation in her exploration. And I assure you, this was no superficial flattery. Let’s just say I am younger than springtime. Okay, if you insist… my vagina is a ROCKSTAR!!

AND, let us not forget that I can impeccably carry to completion: enter, select, press, choose and click with the best of them.

I’m kind of a big deal. A class of my own. Or so I’ve been TOLD.

*aversion (see here) ~ maintenance (and here) (also here) ~ reluctance (here too) ~ appreciation (and there’s more here)