Rant

I feel a rant coming on. I've not produced a good one in a while.

When I get it all together, you can cover your eyes and ears if you want.

I'm back, and here it is!

This is the kind of mail that I get much too often. I begins: Dear Senior Citizen, we are happy to make you this generous offer, so act today and take advantage of the low rates before your next birthday. Blah, blah!

I expect to get junk mail, just like anyone else. But calling me a Senior Citizen is when too much becomes enough.

I ain't no Senior Citizen. Damn, that phrase sounds so Orwellian. You can call me just about anything you wish, and no matter what it is, I can more than likely answer to it. I am an old goat, a geezer, gramps, an old man, an old fart, and a lot of other good things that relate to aging. Even being called elderly is better than the misnomer of Senior Citizen. I ain't no adman's Senior darn Citizen. For the sake of Pete, I'm not too awfully proud of being an American citizen these days.

You son's-of-bitches on Madison Avenue ought to get a semblance of a life and stay away from mine. Don't condescend me. It's difficult enough facing the indignity of old age, the wear that my body has endured and the uncertainties of what future I have.

Don't lump me into a wad just to market to me. Treat me with respect.

And never, never tell me that I am in my Golden Years. You money grubbing mothers are in the Golden Years, at least for the gold that you can swindle from me and people like me.

I'm not physically able to fight with with these jerks, but if I happen to meet one, and he says anything about the aforementioned sins, I will explain to him his genealogy with cuss words he never imagined existed.
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On to things more important.

Carolyn planted snapdragons today, and tomorrow she'll spread mulch. She enjoys it, and it keeps me out of her hair.

Oh, yes. I got my shot today.