I look at least 15 years older than my actual age (which is
54). In Florida—where I’m taking a break—this creates mildly irritating
situations for me because the retired seniors think I’m one of them.
Seventy-five to eighty year old women flirt with me. “I’m
going to bingo tonight at the V.F.W. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
Senior men chuckle and make references to Tommy Dorsey music
while shaking their heads and saying, “Peanuts Hucko played a mean clarinet, if
you know what I mean.”
I don’t know what they mean!
Today, while standing in line, a senior said to me: “Are you
a snowbird or a full-timer?”
Me: “Neither. I’m not retired I’m just here for vacation.”
Senior: “What? When are you going to retire? You can’t put
it off forever, you know.”
Me: “I’m not putting it off, I’m only 54 years old.”
Senior: (Looks me over carefully and with a slight amount of
sadness and disbelief.) “That’s too bad.”
I guess it’s probably best if I don’t talk to strangers.
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