I have been enjoying this senior discount thing since before I could even get one. (Anticipation spices everything.) Actually, since the only 55-plus retail discount is at a Ross store near here, I hadn’t yet found anything to buy with it, but today I spiked the annual poser about “what to wear to the Christmas party,” something that rents more space in my head than it should. The Cute Engineer is only about forty and his employer always splashes out on a big Christmas do (“dress: festive”). From one year to another I tend to forget how to wear dresses, but somehow, this year I nailed something on the first pass.
The woman in line ahead of me looked tired, slumped, greyish hair in a shopworn Mommie Helmet. “Do you know about our Tuesday Club?” said the cashier. In a conspiratorial undertone she added: “Fifty-five and over, ten percent discount.”
“Oh, I will have to wait a couple off years,” said Mommie Helmet with a slight accent, looking a tad miffed as she signed the credit-card reader.
I marched up and plunked down a sweeping, decollete, bareback crimson taffeta Calvin Klein evening dress that had been tagged at less than a quarter of the original price.
“I’ll take that over-55 discount,” I said.
“Well — you can just call it the Tuesday Club,” said the cashier awkwardly.
I swiped my card. “I’m old and proud,” I said.
“We like to say ‘wise,’ she responded, smiling a little frantically, as she bagged the purchase.
Honey, you don’t get it.
As long as the back of that dress says “twenty-five years of deadlifts,” I am more than happy to be any age you care to mention. When did that become a matter for furtive dissimulation? Think about it: what is the alternative?
Old broad. Ready to kick your ass while wearing a backless dress. Line forms over here.