I know that I will be 43 in less than two weeks, and to my own children, their friends, and my students who do not even see me as a human being, that’s old.  Frankly, I don’t really think it is, and I definitely do not feel old.  Right now, in fact, I am sporting pigtails, and you cannot sport pigtails  if you are old.  It just doesn’t happen.

Nonetheless, today I received TWO very disturbing emails, emails that tend to make me think that not everyone thinks I am as young as I feel.

Umm, really?  The AARP wants me to join?  What would be the point?  I am not even close to fifty!   If I do some quick math, I come to realize that fifty is 2568 days away!  That is a mighty long time– time for me to act like the non-AARP person that I am.   So please, AARP, email again on December 26, 2019.  We can talk then.

This email took the cake!  I mean, really, I know I am a little slow with the shoveling, and I don’t exercise as much as I used to do, but am I really in that bad of shape that the Scooter Store thinks I am a candidate for this contraption?  I guess it would be a pretty nifty way to get to and fro, and I guess it would be nice knowing that I would get the handicap parking at the mall, but, I am not George Costanza!  I take pride in working hard; I am not trying to weasel my way out of work.  To prove how much I don’t need this machine, not only did I shovel my driveway, but I shoveled my neighbor’s as well.  Take that, Scooter Store!  I may be sore in the morning, but I will walk to the bathroom to apply Ben Gay, not drive there!

Yes, I declare that I am still in my prime, and if anyone else wants to email me about how old I am, well, they can go pound salt!

Oh shucks, that last statement is kind of dated and sounds old.

Darn it.  Shucks sounds old, too.

Crap.