Yes, You’re Old And We’re Going To Prove It!
I try not to think about how old I am. The thought of aging just pisses me off. But sometimes, it’s thrown in my face like a shaving cream pie of reality.
I made a plane reservation the other day. I don’t remember where I was going. I just remember putting in my birthday: month, day, no prob. Then…year. I was right-hooked upside the melon as only a drop-down menu of dates can deliver. I paged down and down and down some more as my sinking heart begged for mercy. Jesus Christ on a cracker. Really? Who thought of this soul-crushing process disguised as convenience? Why not just give me the fucking blank space so I can type in my four benign little numbers that remind me of nothing? Would that be so hard? Instead, I have to see the seemingly endless parade of decades that have passed before. To you geniuses, I say this…
Dear Soul-Crushing ,Tech-Nerds,
Take a clue from the kind folks who eradicated the term “bifocals” with a vaccine called “progressives”. There is no Age Related Stigma attached to glasses called progressives. See the marketing genius there? I want to kiss those guys. I want to have their babies if only I still had a uterus. But you? You’re cruel and insensitive. One day, you, too, will be making a plane reservation on-line. And it will hit you as it hit me. And you will regret the folly of your youth. The callous disregard for the self-esteem of others. Your day will come, tech-nerds Oh, yes. Your day will come.