Saturday, 27 February 2010

Age is wasted on the old

Good thing that I’m grumpy now because I can’t imagine why I would be when I get older. I’m not entirely sure what all the codgers have to complain about.

I actually can’t wait to attain codger status because I imagine it to be akin to the portrayal by Jenny Joseph in her wonderful poem Warning.

I’m looking forward to experiencing the pleasure that must come from tutting and complaining about the insolent youngsters who have the audacity to sit in one of the precious front seats of the bus. A feeling that can only be improved on by bluntly declining any audacious offer of a seat on the basis that “I’m not that old!” Outrage hurts so good.

It must be such a delight to start conversations with random strangers, fully expecting them to engage in chat about the weather, my dog’s bad leg, my bad back and/or the price of Spam. I can’t wait to give people advice that they don’t ask for merely because I am older and wiser – I’d have seen it all and know when someone was making a mistake. Codger status will come with the knowledge of the correct way to do anything and everything.

It’s this comprehensive knowledge that will give me free reign to berate anyone who crosses my path if they have done wrong – my opinion of what constitutes ‘wrong’, of course – and point out where they have fallen short. In view of it being for their own benefit and because of my age, I’ll go in all guns blazing and expect no comeback no matter how horrendous I am perceived to be (merely perceived because, in reality, I’ll be a harmless old lady).

I’ll pull my wheeled trolley round after me wherever I go, especially when I choose to ignore designated crossings for the sake of shuffling across the road wherever I feel like it, forcing traffic to stop and wait for the time that it takes for me to get to the other kerb. I’m so looking forward to using said trolley to rumble along in the middle of the pavement, failing to make way for anyone attempting to pass by me. They have to wait – what have they got to hurry for anyway?

And despite me not being in a hurry, that won’t stop me from fulfilling my right to queue jump, pushing in on the basis that “I’m old and can’t stand for long periods on account of my bad feet”. This will be one of several ailments that I’m afflicted with, but I’ll gain great pleasure in complaining about them at every opportunity, including the random strangers I just love to engage.

Trips to the Doctor’s office are fun and will be so numerous that I’ll get my very own seat in the waiting room.

I think it will be a lot of fun complaining about the good old days when everyone spoke English, but see no irony in going abroad and shouting at people in order to be understood.

Ahh, the life of a pensioner – expecting instant respect for no reason other than their age. They don’t know they’re born. Read more by Shermaine.