No Country for Old Meh

"There they are," Mom said sourly.

Ha ha ha! We love it here! *cough!* MEDIC!

"I don't like old people," she added bitterly.

"They're not all bad, Mom," I said.

"Yes, they are," she opined acidly.

We were at Brookdale, the land of dreams and incontinence. The lunch served was boiled mash with mashed boils. Mom scowled at her plate. For the last hour she'd been complaining about how clique-y the Brookdale folk were. An elderly gentleman went by our table wearing a Jets leather jacket.

"He better not run into a Shark, or they'll break into song and then a hip."

Mom aimed a narrow look at a school of old birds floating by in a solution of mixed metaphor.

"There they are," she said. "Hmph! So snippy, all of them. I try to avoid them most of the time. And I know they don't want me in their little clique."

"There's someone from the under-100 crowd, Mom. Well, one. Maybe be her friend?"

"No, thanks."

Mom was feeling bitter. And envious. And angry. And negative. The whole Feel-Bad Rainbow, in fact. I decided to give her some truth bombs.

"You see, you lack self-esteem. Confidence. It's one of the most useful qualities to have. Look at the Tangerine Tito--he has gobs of self-regard, and he manages to hypnotize others into thinking his incontinence doesn't stink. Sure, many hate him, but it's still been very useful to him. And look at Dad, the Mellow Mugabe. He's utterly high on his own supply. Somehow he writes a book and thinks it's a masterpiece. Many would write his dreck, look it over, and then bury the manuscript deep in a superfund toxic waste dump for the sake of humanity. Yet he finished it and even published it, now available at fine retailers everywhere! Seven stars!"

"Will you please stop talking?"

"I'm just saying the power of confidence..."

"Oh, there's Jerry! The poor dear, I haven't seen her in ages. She used to be a clown in the army."

"The world needs laughter. Especially during bayonet attacks."

"And that's Agnes. Did you know her brother used to be the head of some company I can't remember the name of?"

"Impressive."

Agnes came over to our table. "How are you, dear!"

"Oh, God bless you, my dear! I see you came in with Jerry," Mom said. She fumbled and pawed at Agnes' hands. "Is Jerry doing okay? I haven't seen her in such a long time!"

"She's okay. She had a bad fall, but she's better. Oh! There's Lydia. And Esther. And Fanny!"

"And Donner and Blixen!"

Mom and Agnes talked for a while, as if the bestest of friends. After Agnes went off to join others at the big table, I told Mom she doesn't seem to dislike ALL old people. Mom shrugged.

"I mean, there's no shortage of interesting types here," I said. "I think we're both learning a heartsmart lesson."

ARE YOU WHIPPERSNAPPERS NOT ENTERTAINED?!

Mom sat back from her half-finished lunch. "I think I want a cookie today."

"Now we're taking it up a notch."

Another lady came over. Mom couldn't remember her name. The old bird turned suddenly. "Oh, there's Matilda! She's our local hooker."

"What," I said.

"There she goes..."

"Oh, what a dear," Mom said. "I'm glad she's doing better. I thought about getting a kit to do some hooking myself."

"There's a kit now?"

"I've been wanting to try it."

"Why not. Maybe you're curious. A little shy at first, but once you start you'll be hooking with the best! And then maybe you can even bring in some extra money... with your hooking."

"Oh, now Matilda's going off with Elmer, I've seen them together a lot..."

"I'm actually very confused."

I finally tore myself away and got home. I had a dynamite idea for a new series on Netflix. It would be called "Local Hookers," about elderly rug hookers who sell their rugs at church sales and then use the money to buy drugs which they sell to the men they turn tricks on. SOLID GOLD

LIVE FAST, DIE VERY VERY OLD