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I walked into my grocery store for the first time on a Tuesday,
and it was packed at 2 in the afternoon.
Seniors. All of them.
It did not dawn on me at first,
until I went down several isles
and trudged my cart around a bad hip or two,
a cane,
and someone in the little electric cart,
which I had never seen used there before.
At the checkout, I asked
"What's the starting age for the Senior Discount?"
as I flipped through their pile of Senior Discount cards.
When I heard it was fifty five,
I gladly signed up,
my signature still steady,
and my cane out in the car.
.
.
.
.
.
I walked into my grocery store for the first time on a Tuesday,
and it was packed at 2 in the afternoon.
Seniors. All of them.
It did not dawn on me at first,
until I went down several isles
and trudged my cart around a bad hip or two,
a cane,
and someone in the little electric cart,
which I had never seen used there before.
At the checkout, I asked
"What's the starting age for the Senior Discount?"
as I flipped through their pile of Senior Discount cards.
When I heard it was fifty five,
I gladly signed up,
my signature still steady,
and my cane out in the car.
.
.
.
tell it like it is...
ReplyDeleteI get that feeling with the YMCA in mid-afternoon, which is even stranger. Hard to ogle an 80-year-old crone in Spandex.
ReplyDelete