Though I am, arguably, among the most immature acting of my friends, it is all an effort to stay youthful. I'd always heard that I would never feel 40 when I turned 40. I have to say, that theory is a crock of horse manure. I most definitely feel older - and not that overnight I all of a sudden felt the 4th decade upon my birthday like a rites of passage. I just mean that I most definitely do not feel 20. The hot flashes, waking up each morning having to stretch out the kinks each day that my previous day's benign movements don't seem to warrant, the creaky bones, cravings, tougher getting in and out of a car (I've actually been noticing this), insomnia, hoo-hah dryness (yes!)...... OYE! The only way I can prevent the physical demise is by pretending it isn't happening, hence my flagrant immaturity.
But time is ticking forward. How do I know for sure....really for sure? Aside from physical changes, I know by the way I react to things. Specifically, I now roll my eyes at "teenagers".
This is the beginning of my long, slow death towards the retirement village. Rolling my eyes at the 'youth'? When did I get old enough to consider myself separate from this group? It has happened....
And so, let it be. As an example to illustrate this fact, I've still not gotten over our recent Halloween. Allow me to recount.
Few things chap my ass more than these damn modern teenagers who don’t know when to hang up the pillowcase and stop trolling for free candy on Halloween.
Don’t get me wrong, I have no objection to doling out some boxed raisins or wintergreen lozenges to a 3-year old in a Ronald Reagan costume but I get pretty incensed when some pock-marked 18-year old smelling of bong water and underarm odor shows up at my door with an insolent scowl and a demand for free food.
Back when I was growing up, we teenagers didn’t harass our neighbors for unearned sweets – we were too busy holding down jobs, harvesting crops or serving in the armed forces overseas (hey oh!). But nowadays it seems these teens trick or treat into their mid-twenties. Half the damned “kids” that bang on my door are over six feet tall, have a five o’clock shadow and voices deeper than Rosie O'Donnell. Really?
And, honestly, if you insist on coming to my door looking to score some candy at least put some effort into it. These damned teens refuse to say “trick or treat,” won’t make eye contact and sure as hell don’t bother with costumes. They just roll their eyes and stick a sack under my nose while text messaging their location to other scurrilous moochers in search of easy prey. If they intend to carry on with this shameless behavior the least they could do is dress like hobos or – perhaps more accurately – petty thieves.
And to add insult to indignity, they’re pounding on my door at 9 o’clock when I’m already in my flannel duck jammies and well past the time that most legitimate trick or treaters have already gone home, gorged themselves senseless and thrown up on the rug.
Be advised that any damned teenager who shows up at my door next Halloween won’t be getting anything but a copy of the want ads, directions to the local military recruitment center and a cane to the side of the head.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh.... aging .......