I’m 54. O.K., I’m just a few weeks shy of 55 but I’m holding onto 54 with a death grip like you’ve never seen. Normally, I don’t like to reveal my age, but it’s important for the rest of the story so please, keep it between us. (I’m working on embracing the wisdom that my age offers, because really, that’s about all there is left.)
A few weeks ago my husband and I decided to see a movie. I can’t remember what I was wearing but I thought I looked pretty stylish and well put together; cute even. When we arrived at the ticket counter I asked the young man for two tickets to our show. He glanced up at me, and then at my husband (who, by the way, is five years, three months, and 23 days older than I am) and said, “two senior tickets?”
You have never heard the word “NO!” pop out of someone’s mouth so quickly. Senior tickets? Puh-lease! And then I looked at my husband, sporting his very gray hair and said, “Wait . . . . how old do you have to be to get senior tickets?” (I mean, a bargain is a bargain.) The punk, I mean sweet high school boy behind the counter informed us that 60 was the magic – you get to pay less – number. “Well then,” I replied, “we’ll have ONE senior ticket and ONE regular ticket.”
I was traumatized. Seriously, when did I start to look like I qualified for a senior discount? This was going to require copious amounts of popcorn just to get me through the show. Does popcorn make you look old?
My friends say I should have just taken the money and run. I’m all for a bargain, mind you, but there is NO WAY I’m going to accept the senior discount before it’s “legal,” even if it’s just one day before my 60th birthday. Sin or no sin, I’m just too vain; oh, and honest. Yes, that’s what I mean, I’m just too honest. In the meantime, I will GLADLY give that cute little boy the full ticket price.