Somebody should have told me...

I headed out the door this morning, a spring in my step, excited about hitting some thrift stores and finding some interesting items. My morning caffeine fix rushed through my brain and I fairly buzzed about.

I visited one store after another.  At each checkout I asked the same question.  "Do you have any discounts or specials today?"

The shocker came when I visited the last store and unwittingly asked the same question.  The cashier asked if I was a "Senior".  I laughed, shaking my head no.  Out of curiosity I questioned at what age they considered a person to be a senior.  When  asked if I was 50 I felt the blood flush through my face, searing my scalp. 

Why yes.  Yes!  I had  just turned 50.  When the cashier stated I qualified for the "Senior Discount" something inside me snapped and I wanted to yell "You take that back!  Take. It. Back.  NOW!  I'm not one of those...I'm not a senior...I'm not...I'm not... (dissolving in tears).

A quick mental picture of myself flying over the counter feet first planting one stiletto heel right between the cashiers eyes snuffed itself out before I could act.

I maintained my composure, graciously accepted my discount and scrambled to make a hasty exit, tucking my dignity between my legs.  After all, I did ask for it.  (How many times did mother warn you, be careful what you ask for?)

I sat inside my truck.  Stunned.  Surprised. In some sense even horrified. Many things ran through my mind.  I am now considered a "Senior".  I turned the key in the ignition and headed home, still in a bit of a daze.  I mean 50.  To me it was just another birthday.  No big thing.  But 50?  When the hell did this happen?

I dragged myself through the front door, shrugged my clothes off and pulled on my fluffiest bath robe. My feet found comfort in a pair of fuzzy old house slippers.

Shuffling to the bathroom I wet my hair and put it up in big metal rollers (the kind with the spiky plastic thingies in the middle-heavens only knows where those came from!), washed off my makeup and put on my anti-wrinkle cream while contemplating where I would find a donut to sit my poor old tush on.  I squeezed in a couple of kegels for good measure.

A cup of weak, watered down tea sat cooling beside me taking the place of my usual double espresso while images of "Maxine" danced in my mind.

In front of the mirror, I opened my robe and much to my surprise I didn't see a "Senior" standing there.  My breasts are still perky, my butt cheeks aren't sagging, my belly still looks pretty darned good.  I continued to stare in confusion.  My mental image of "Senior" just wasn't fitting the image reflected back at me.

I checked my teeth.  Thankfully I won't need polygrip, polident or any other denture grip because I'm blessed to still have all my own natural teeth.  I looked at my eyes.  Yes, there are a few "character" lines (I refuse to call them "crows feet") around the outer corners but my eyes don't droop and I don't have bags under them.

My mouth looks fine.  A couple of smile creases at the corner but nothing major. Definitely not any "road maps" crisscrossing my face.  Thank heavens.

With a final assessment of myself in the mirror I had to smile.  All in all, I look pretty danged "hot" and, if I'm going to be a "Senior" at least, by George, I'm a sexy Senior ;-)