Tuesday, August 11, 2009

AARP Can Kiss My Ass!


If it's true that you're as young as you feel, age is just a number and it's not the years left in your life, but the life left in your years, why is AARP stalking me?

When my partner Paul got his AARP membership card seven a few years ago, I teased him about it, but he was thrilled. The travel discounts alone were well worth it for him. Paul is the consummate discount shopper and if it means revealing his age to get 10% off on "Senior Tuesdays" at the grocery store, he'll do it. When he added me to his AARP membership and attempted to hand me a card of my own, I refused to even touch it.

But now those wrinkly old bastards sending membership applications to me!

At 49 years old, though I haven't been to the gym in a few years, I'm in better shape, more energetic and more creative than I've ever been. At work, I run circles around people that I could have fathered (accept for that whole "not liking girls" thing).

Given the state of the economy, the American Association of Retired People (AARP) should probably change their name. Who can afford to retire anymore? A more appropriate name would be The "American Association of People Who Would Like to Retire Some Day, But With This Shitty Economy Will Have to Work Until They Drop Dead" (AAPWWLRSDBWTSEWHWUTDD).

Paul and I have discussed our "final dispensation" plans. In granting him Medical Power of Attorney, I've included a clause that says before he can pull the plug, he's got to clock me out and clean out my locker.

Personally, I've always liked older men, but but at my age, I'm going to have to start digging them up. I can't look at Internet porn any more. Most of the guys featured on the "Daddy" sites I used to love are only 35!

Ten years ago I went for a check up. My doctor told me he wasn't going to do the prostate exam because I was only "just beginning middle-age". Apparently, over the course of the next year I had gone through some kind of rapid aging process, because at my next exam he insisted on it.

As I dropped trou and assumed the position, he put on the rubber glove and lubed up, saying, "this may be a little uncomfortable."

Looking back over my shoulder with a cold stare, I replied, "I don't think so."

"Oh... yeah", was his awkward reply.

So, with the big 5-0 just a few months away and no end to my working life in site, I say a heartfelt, "Fuck You, AARP!"

I will not now, nor will I ever carry your membership card! I will defiantly pay full price for everything, park further from the mall entrance and eat dinner after 8 pm just as I always have, just to spite you! Kiss my 49-year-old-but-still-hot ass!

On the other hand, I am really looking forward to all the fuss on my 50th birthday. I hope Paul gets me a better gift than I got him on his 50th. (I got him a 26 year old.)

3 comments:

  1. It was my 46th birthday and the "present" was 23!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I stand corrected. The kid was 23.

    ReplyDelete
  3. You're old Blanche! You're OLD.

    ReplyDelete

Please keep comments relevant and civil. Comments attacking other people will be deleted.

 
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