Well, it happened. Standing at the counter, the impossibly young cashier asked me if I wanted …
The Senior Special.
I realize I’m not as young as I used to be, or as young-looking. I realize the March of Time is inescapable. I realize that my once dark and luxuriant hair is now thinning and gray, that gravity has taken over where musculature has failed, that what once was a smooth countenance has achieved a certain craggy quality.
But still … the Senior Special?
This could be a problem.