There are so many perks to aging. I just can’t wait. Being on old lady is going to rock my world. If I don’t die of lung cancer in 20 years, which, let’s face it, is a probability, I will be a granny to you all, I’ll be the greatest nana the world has ever seen. And I’m not talking about sitting on my ass all day and feeding the birds, oh no.
First, if I make it and hit the age, say, 75, I’ll make sure I’m still smoking. I’ll switch to the nastiest brand, the kind that has a funky smell when it gets cold. That way, if I’m blessed with having grand children, they’ll refuse to come to my house because it will stink. If my family ever decides to pay a visit, which they’ll avoid as much as they possibly can, they’ll find me typing on my mac book, writing dirty stories. I’ll be butt-naked under an old bathrobe. Due to an extensive use of another apple device, I’ll be hard of hearing and I will yell. I’ll make sure to embarass everybody at the dinner table. I’ll take advantage of my old age. I will relish to smell faintly like cheese. Also, in terms of clothing, I’ll mix as many patterns as I can. I might even start going to church, to put my most glorious outfits on display.
I will also develop strange skills. Like : hotwiring a car. Yes. I’ll learn that right after menopause.
Now, I don’t think I’ll need to be a cat lady. That’s too obvious. Besides, I sort of hate pets.You probably think it’s an outrageous thing to say, but when I’ll get old, you won’t dare saying a thing. This is one of the great aspects of becoming an old fart: you’ve got a complete licence to hate.
I’m going to love hating my neighbours, by the way. My great grandmother, bless her soul, used to pound on the ground with her cane, starting at 6 A.M just to wake her neighbors. Also she would accuse my grandmother of poisoning her soup. Now, that’s what I call style.
Yes, it’s gonna be a grand time. I just can’t wait.