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Maybe, just maybe I’d consider a scooter like this one, one day. Photo courtesy of nationwidemobility.co.uk

Now that I’ve eaten food from my favorite chinese food spot and had a glass of wine, I think I’ve composed myself enough after an unexpected emotional reaction I had to a single piece of mail.

I was feeling good. I had just arrived home after pushing through a challenging Zumba class. I went to my mailbox, rummaged through the mail, and there it was.

A promotional mailing from The Scooter Store.

I looked at the addressee long and hard, because surely, this was a mistake.

No luck.

Sure enough it was my address and my name, spelled correctly.

I was flabbergasted. I was outraged, I was hurt and even vexed.

I’m not even six months into 30, and I’m getting offers to aid my mobility, accompanied by a test to be taken by me or my caretaker that will help me  assess my need for a motorized “power chair or scooter” that will make me “much more independent” than I’ve ever dreamed!

On every stinking page, there was my full name in bold, large, letters, because of course I’m feeble and my eyesight is slip..slip…slipping away.

I took a photo and sent it to my friends. I texted how outraged I was, and that not even *AARP (which likes to offer early memberships to people 40+) has approached me yet.

Don’t get me wrong. I think aging is a gift, after all, there’s only one other alternative.

Usually I don’t get crazy about this kind of stuff. I had a small moment when I spied my first single strand of grey hair in my right temple area at 25.

I blew it off because I was horribly stressed and working like a maniac.

Occasionally that single, defiant strand reappears in the same spot after I’ve yanked its adventurous predecessor, cursed it, waved it in my mirror and in my best Tony Montana voice yelled, “And let that be a lesson to your friends not to come round here!”

I laugh and then I examine it. The color is actually quite pretty, seemingly dyed in a vat of character.

Then I imagine being a sexy old lady, married, but still flirting with boys at least 30 years my junior for fun with a head full of that silky grey stuff.

BUT I AIN’T THAT LADY RIGHT NOW, AND EVEN THEN I’M NOT GOING TO WANT NO DAGGONE SCOOTER!!!

I’d clutch my pearls, breakout in raucous laughter and bust into a handstand in my foyer. I’m going to have a foyer, and then I’m going to grind up on my husband, while ripping up the Scooter Store’s offer, pass him a glass of water to wash down his happy pill and slap him on the booty.

I’m going to say with a devilish grin, “Maybe I shouldn’t have ripped that up. You’ll need that scooter once I’m through with you.”

Then hot geriatric love with the love of my life for the last several decades will commence.

Back to like, now though.

Now that I’ve written about this, I feel better. This helped.

My recent mail delivery has also prompted me to make the executive decision to buy a pair of Pastry brand sneakers I was debating about last weekend, concerned the brand was too young for me (Yes, I think about these things now. The 30s can be a confusing funky time for your fashion sense. You got to walk the line carefully. Lots of folks get it wrong. I don’t want to be apart of that age-inappropriate community.) and would make me like old women dressing like young girls (think Mama Jones from Love and Hip Hop).

My future purchase is justified. The pair I want is on sale and among the more conservative of styles they offer.

Actually, as I looked for a photo of an older person riding a scooter, I came across this post “12 Badass Mobility Scooter Users,” I literally laughed out loud and thought to myself, these folks are so wrong, but I needed to see this. If you see number 9 and 11, especially, you’ll see what I mean.

*For my international friends, AARP is the American Association for Retired Persons. It’s a pretty powerful group with great membership benefits and discounts on basically everything. Folks get excited about these discounts when they get their AARP card, usually around the age of 60.

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