And here I was thinking that I was only going to be 28 on my next birthday. Apparently I need to flip that number and make it 82!
So I get home last night from a tough, rainy day in the city to find this on the kitchen table, along with my mom laughing because she knew I was going to throw a fit when I found it. I knew working in Manhattan had aged me, but not this much!
My only explanation as to how this could have happened is that I’ve lived with a good number of senior citizens in the past 4 years (my nana, my mom and dad), and somehow I’ve been grouped into this category erroneously. It’s either that or the same mysterious hooligan that signed me up for the Army when I was 18 is back to his old tricks (yes, this happened – a recruiter called the house, it got uncomfortable).
So now I don’t know what to do. Do I call someone and flip my shit on them? I mean, these people have records right? I don’t need other agencies mistaking me for a septuagenarian. Do I brush it off as a silly misunderstanding? No, that doesn’t sound like something I would do. Or do I actually sign up so I can take advantage of their comprehensive benefits package? The mailing is promising a nifty trunk organizer! And now that I’m a senior citizen, that sounds exactly like something I would be interested in.