A Startling Encounter At The Grocery Store

So I’m in the grocery store yesterday and the clerk – a sweet looking girl who seemed about 12 – totaled up my purchases and said “are you there yet?”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Do you qualify?”

“Qualify for what,” I asked again.

“For our discount,” she said, and I swear she rolled her eyes.

“What do I have to do” I asked warily.

“Are you sixty or over?” she asked. “If you are, you get a discount.”

And so, at that moment, another milestone roars from the sky and lands squarely on my head. Up until that moment, I was actually having a pretty good day.

Am I sixty or over, I wanted to shout to her. Can’t you tell just from looking at me that I’m still years younger than that? I have, um, three years and 45 days left before I’m sixty. Are you blind, young lady?

So there it is. Apparently I’m looking my years. But I am not sure I’m prepared to be sixty; in fact, I’m quite sure I’m not ready yet. I still have lots of 50s things to do. Who do I see about putting this 60s thing off for a while? I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get all the things I need done in time for that particular birthday.

Not that turning 60 is an end to doing things, mind you. I think that’s just the decade where any illusion of youth is pretty much over. And while I haven’t been truly young in many years, I’ve been able to maintain the illusion in my own head, as long as I stay away from mirrors.

So in three years (and 45 days), I’ll be able to march back into that grocery store and tell that young woman (who will also, by the way, be three years older) that I now quality for that discount. And I’ll try to hold my head up proudly when I do it. Show her that just because you’ve got six decades under your belt, doesn’t mean you’re old.

It just means you pay less for groceries.

And I’m sure she won’t roll her eyes.