I made a quick (OK, maybe not so quick) stop at Kohl’s today. I needed more fat girls’ clothes and a few decorative odds and ends.
I went to the check out, where the adorably cute little cashier asked me, “Are you eligible for today’s senior citizen special?” I stopped cold and dead in my tracks. No one has ever asked me that before. In fact, before I gained this blasted weight, no one could ever believe I was as old as I am. I asked her how old one had to be to qualify (hey…it’s a discount, right?), and she admitted she didn’t know. I was fairly certain that fifty-three wouldn’t qualify and let it slide at that.
I fretted this fact on the twenty minute drive home. It was like the first time someone addressed you as “ma’am”. The first time you were the only one in your party to not get carded or when the neighborhood kids start calling you Mrs. T. No, that was my mother, not me.
I pulled into the local drug store to pick up bottled water, toilet bowl cleaner and tampons. Yes, tampons. The Goddess of Menopause still taunts me with her teasing ways. “Hey! You’re over it! No period in four months! You know it’s gone!” Then she hits me with a two week bleed. Then, it’s “I promise, no more monthlies!” And I get slammed again. Granted, the slams these days are much less than the bleeds of younger years, yet they’re here and annoying as hell.
So, I bought my first box of tampons in the past year, and while I was standing in the check out line paying for what I fervently hoped would be my last purchase of tampons in my life, I thought of being offered my very first senior citizen special on the very same day.
Too young for the discount and not quite old enough to be rid of the plague. Just shoot me