YESTERDAY:
Three years ago, they found me in Florida, but I escaped with my life – barely, by the pesky man-whisker on my chin. Covered my tracks a thousand miles away, in old Waterloo, the Redneck Oasis. I knew it was only a matter of time, though, before they’d catch up to me, back me into a corner, push me to the edge. It wasn’t gonna be pretty. I swore I’d never go quietly, never give them the satisfaction. If I had to steal away another thousand miles, I’d do it.
Do I sound paranoid? Maybe I am, but don’t ever forget Alan Arkin’s famous words to Peter Falk in The In-Laws: Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.
On the run these last few years, I’ve gone through many changes, from dying my hair super blonde and chopping it short and sassy, to donning thick-rimmed reading glasses and adding a few cup sizes to my chest, to eating organic and wearing thongs (not the rubber-soled kind). So many changes – all to harbor a secret, to avoid a destiny that would not be denied. Now I’m like Jason Bourne: unsure of my identity or my next move, unsure why my stalkers continue their dogged pursuit. But this much I do know: there are few places left to hide. They are relentless, and sooner or later, they will find you. Their reach and mite are too powerful with far-reaching, hard-sucking tentacles that bullwhip you out of your blissfully unaware reverie. And by then you get it: the end is near.
TODAY:
I couldn’t have been more right. I caught sight of the messenger outside my house, their sinister harbinger of mortality. It was too late to make a run for it. I hid in the shadows, but their calling card was already waiting for me. As I held it in my quivering hand with sweat dripping down my temples, fear and dread in my heart, I raised my fist, looked up to the sky, and shouted, “Damn you, AARP! Damn you to hell!”
Don’t worry, there is life on the other side of 50. Mainly it means you have a lot less to lose, and not nearly so many excuses for chickening out.
Yes, I guess so. I finally gave in and sent in my $12.95 for a one-year membership — the bastards are cunning. But I figure if I’m going to allow myself to get old, I can get some discounts for it. :)
KJ
LOL. My wife is several years older than I am. I was a little, uhh, less than sympathetic when she got her AARP card. Then I got mine. She said something about last laughs being best. Wish I could remember why I was dumb enough to marry a woman smarter than I am.
Steve
You just paid for the financial version of a bad STD. Good luck getting free, I never have, even though, like you, I signed up innocently and made a profit the first year on discounts.
But these fuckers are relentless, a nictitating membrane slides down over their eyes every time a mailer goes out. AARP is, at heart, little more than an insurance marketing list.
Every time I really want to try to stop their mailings, say, put a little pinch of cornstarch in the postage paid return envelope my wife puts the kibosh on it. Now that Ivins’ dead, even that won’t work.
Yes, I’ve heard the good, bad, and the fugly about AARP, and though my rebellious streak wants me to flip ‘em the birdie and get on with my bad midlife self, I seem to gravitate to groups more now than ever. It’s not like I’m all warm and fuzzy over being part of a group, but I do think it has more to do with acceptance (of the term midlife?), even just a smidge.
KJ