My darling Ryan is soon to be turning 43, which apparently has been noted by some dastardly marketing software, prompting this text.
Ryan: Okay, is it right to get indignant if you get a welcome letter from AARP? NOT what I was looking forward to for my birthday.
Me: Awwww, honey, yes. And ridiculous because you’re too young to even get a membership.
Ryan: Okay, that makes me feel a little better. Still. Hurtful. Hang on…I have to yell at some kids to get off my lawn.
Me: At least AARP wants you?
Ryan: Great, I’m wanted by a paramilitary organization with walkers.
Me: If it makes you feel better, I’m with Danielle, and she says last week she got a coupon for a discount on her own cremation.
Ryan: Jesus Christ. She wins.
***For my non-American friends…AARP is the American Association of Retired Persons.
Tracy: “Let’s face it, we’re old. The days of having sex up against a tree, with no thoughts as to consequences, are past us.”
Me: “By consequences, you mean splinters, right?”
Tracy: “I’m just saying that our days of backseat wrestling and breaking furniture are long gone.”
Me: “I have to disagree. Ryan and I broke a piece of furniture just two weeks ago.”
Tracy: “Seriously? What did you break?”
Me: “My shower chair.”
Tracy: “A shower chair? Thank you, that is officially the benchmark of how fucking old we are. How ’bout next time, you use your walker for leverage.”
**Before you guys give me too much shit, my house was built in 1957, and the shower heads were clearly installed for people who were 5′ 5″, so in order to wash my hair, I was doing a 20 minute wall-sit on wet tile, and while that was AMAZING for my quads, I ironically worried I’d fall and possibly break a hip, so I acquired the shower chair. Fuck, I am old.
Me: “Why isn’t this remote working?” (shakes it)
Caolinn: “It’s because it’s old…like you.”
Me: (glare) “Watch it.”
Caolinn: “Watch what? Your hair turn gray?”
Me: “I’m going to shave you when you sleep.”
Caolinn: “You can’t…you’re like 280 in dog years, so you need your rest.”
Me: “Keep digging that grave.”
Caolinn: “Which one?” (smirks)