Getting Old

My mother lives in a community for seniors and disabled.  There is a minimum age to live there, possibly 65.  Everyone has their own apartment but share common areas like laundry and dining hall.

A couple of weeks ago, as I was leaving, I came across a man and woman going downstairs for supper.  He made a comment that someone was coming up behind them and moved ahead and to the side.  She couldn’t move quite as quickly and I caught up with her.  I said “Don’t worry I won’t run over you.  You’re probably moving faster than I am today.”  We fell into step together and she turned to look at me and asked.  “You don’t have a walker? They made us get walkers so we don’t fall down.” It was all I could do not to burst out laughing.  Apparently I look old enough to live there.

Earlier in the day my aunt had hugged me and said “Ann Marie, you look…..”
“old” I finished.
“Well I didn’t want to say that , but since you did” is how she finished.

I guess it is time to either keep up with the hair color or just let it go white, start wearing some makeup, and get this weight off.  I never paid much attention to my age in numbers, but I’m entering the final approach to 50 and don’t particularly like it.


About ramblinann

I live in Massachusetts and always have. I sell healthy holistic pet food as an independant rep with Life's Abundance. That is done mostly from home on my computer. When I'm not working for myself with the pet food, I am sitting behind the wheel of a big yellow school bus.
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