Getting Old????

Getting Old 1

$5.37! 
That’s what the kid behind the counter at Taco Bell said to me. 
I dug into my pocket and pulled out some lint and two dimes and something that used to be a Jolly Rancher. 
Having already handed the kid a five-spot, I started to head back out to the truck to grab some change when the kid with the Elmo hairdo said the hardest thing anyone has ever said to me. He said, “It’s OK. I’ll just give you the senior citizen discount.” 
I turned to see who he was talking to and then heard the sound of change hitting the counter in front of me . 
“Only $4.68 ” he said cheerfully. 
I stood there stupefied. I am 56, not even 60 yet? 
A mere child! 
Senior citizen? 
I took my burrito and walked out to the truck wondering what was wrong with Elmo. 
Was he blind? 
As I sat in the truck, my blood began to boil . 
Old? Me? 
I’ll show him, I thought. 
I opened the door and headed back inside. I strode to the counter, 
and there he was waiting with a smile. 
Before I could say a word, he held up something and jingled it in front of me, 
like I could be that easily distracted! 
What am I now? 
A toddler? 
“Dude! Can’t get too far without your car keys, eh?” 
I stared with utter disdain at the keys. 
I began to rationalize in my mind! 
“Leaving keys behind hardly makes a man elderly! 
It could happen to anyone!” 
I turned and headed back to the truck. 
I slipped the key into the ignition, but it wouldn’t turn. 
What now? 
I checked my keys and tried another. 
Still nothing. 
That’s when I noticed the purple beads hanging from my rear view mirror. 
I had no purple beads hanging from my rear view mirror. 
Then, a few other objects came into focus: 
The car seat in the back seat. 
Happy Meal toys spread all over the floorboard. 
A partially eaten doughnut on the dashboard. 
Faster than you can say ginkgo biloba , I flew out of the alien vehicle. 
Moments later I was speeding out of the parking lot, 
relieved to finally be leaving this nightmarish stop in my life. 
That is when I felt it, deep in the bowels of my stomach: hunger! 
My stomach growled and churned, and I reached to grab my burrito, 
only it was nowhere to be found. 
I swung the truck around, gathered my courage, 
and strode back into the restaurant one final time. 
There Elmo stood, draped in youth and black nail polish. 
All I could think was, “What is the world coming to?” 
All I could say was, “Did I leave my food and drink in here”? 
At this point I was ready to ask a Boy Scout to help me back to my vehicle, 
and then go straight home and apply for Social Security benefits. 
Elmo had no clue. 
I walked back out to the truck, 
and suddenly a young lad came up and tugged on my jeans to get my attention. 
He was holding up a drink and a bag. 
His mother explained, 
“I think you left this in my truck by mistake.” 
I took the food and drink from the little boy and sheepishly apologized. 
She offered these kind words: 
“It’s OK. My grandfather does stuff like this all the time.” 
All of this is to explain how I got a ticket doing 85 in a 40 mph zone. 
Yessss , I was racing some punk kid in a Toyota Prius. 
And no, I told the officer, I’m not too old to be driving this fast. 
As I walked in the front door, my wife met me halfway down the hall. 
I handed her a bag of cold food and a $300 speeding ticket. 
I promptly sat in my rocking chair and covered up my legs with a blankey . 
The good news was that I had successfully found my way home.

Getting Old 2 

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About Dick and Danna

Resume for Dick Vernon, PHD (Possess Highschool Diploma) I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently. I am a strong conservative politically. Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row. I make women swoon with my sensuous steel guitar playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I’m bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, I repair computerized aircraft panels free of charge. I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don’t perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. Ihave been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat .400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me. I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations with the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On week- ends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven. I have given Rachel Ray and Emirile cooking lessons. I breed prize-winning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performe open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis many times when I taught him how to play guitar.. But I have not yet gone to college. ——————————————————- Resume for: Danna Vernon I put up with Dick Vernon. Doesn’t that say it all?
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