Am I Old or Just Senile?

I sat with a group of Senior Citizens this morning in a meeting and I realized something.  I AM ONE.  While I was secretly chuckling at some of their mannerisms it struck me that I probably have idiosyncrasies of my own.  I realized that I have been thrown to the wolves – no longer a nifty-fifty, but a dyed-in-the-wool sixty-something genuine old lady! 

“When did this happen?” I asked myself.  Yesterday I was twenty and I had the whole world ahead of me.  Today I’m forty-two years older with a soon to be birthday on the horizon – next week in fact!

This morning it happened again while I was getting ready for my day.  “Oh, there’s another wrinkle,” I moaned.  I looked closely to be sure it was true, and then reassured myself.  “Don’t worry dear, everything will be fine.”

 “Yeah, it’s easy for you to say that.”

Startled, I glanced up at the twenty-something face I saw reflected in my mirror.  

“By the way, you might want to apply some concealer under those baggy eyes.”

“What?”  I reached in my bag for the white stuff and smeared it lavishly all over my face.  Can’t ever have too much, right?

“What on earth are you doing?” Mirror Girl asked.  “Didn’t you listen to that makeup artist yesterday?”

“What makeup artist?  Did I miss something?  Who are you and what in the heck are you talking about?”

“Settle down,” she replied.  “You know who I am so don’t try to act like you don’t.  Remember that time you caught your dress in your pantyhose in the bathroom and walked into your niece’s wedding reception with your butt hanging out for the world to see?”

“Oh, you are so cruel,” I said.  “You would have to bring up the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me.”

“Well, actually…”

“Ok, just shut up.  I get it.  Where’s my coffee anyway?  It’s too early for this nonsense.”

“It might be nice to add some color to your hair.  It’s getting a little drab,” Mirror Girl said with a smirk.

“At least there’s no gray yet,” I muttered.  “One of the good things about being blonde.”

“Have you been doing those arm lifts the trainer said would firm up your biceps?”

I decided it was time to brush my teeth and end this nonsense.  But when I finished and looked back, she was still there. 

“What’s up with this?” I wondered, as she began again.

“Are you getting a little thick around the middle?” she looked down and tried to see me naked.

I threw a towel around myself.  “Oh no you don’t,” I said.  “We’re not having THAT conversation today.”

“What conversation?” she asked innocently.

“That one about cellulite and varicose veins.”  I began applying mascara.

“You’re pretty cool for an old lady,” she said with a smirk.  “If I were a little older we’d probably be best friends or something.”

I gave her the evil eye and put on my lipstick.

“Don’t you think that color’s a little dark?” she asked innocently.

“Do you always have to be so uncomplimentary?” I replied.  “Sure would be nice if just once you liked something I did.”

“Oh, I do,” she replied.  “You made me special.  See you tomorrow.”  She gave a jaunty wave that I just caught out of the corner of my eye.

I looked up to see the mirror was blank.  Except for some sixty-year old hag that peered back at me.  

“Where did she come from?” I wondered.  I paid her no mind as I got dressed and walked out the door.

“I look good,” I thought to myself.  “It’s going to be a glorious day.”  I backed out of the driveway listening to the sounds of Bruce Springsteen on the radio. 

“Humph,” I snorted.  “Old lady, my ass!”