That’s it. I’m not kidding. My birthday is coming up and dang nabbit, the only problem is that I’m turning 41 years old and not 71.

Today cemented it. Apparently, one of our local newspapers ran an article about our little retail corner. All day I have been inundated with curious seniors; sweet couples whose male members (hee hee) still remove their hats once inside and hold the door for their lovely wives; gaggles of septuagenarian girlfriends with snazzy sweater sets and neckerchiefs out for an afternoon on the town; best buddies strolling around the sidewalks looking at the architecture. And where am I? Working, that’s where. Like I said, dang nabbit!

My husband thinks I’m weird for wanting to hurry straight on into my twilight years, but look…the way I figure it, I’ll never be 10 years old again. We don’t get to go backwards this time around but 65, 70??? That’s the closest I’ll be to 10 ever again. Think about it. Oodles of free time. Spending all day at the library or hanging with your friends. Card games. Bingo. Group crafts. You listen to your music waaaay too loud and sometimes you need a little extra supervision. People always telling you what you can and can’t eat. You can’t drive so how do you get around? Scooters. See? Its just like being 10 years old…minus the blood pressure medication, that is.
The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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