Yesterday our neighbor said to my wife, “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, if there’s anything you need.”
When Patty told me about it, I wondered, “What would we need?”
“You don’t understand. It’s because we’re elderly. The virus is an extra-big threat to The Elderly.”
I am not going to get mad at the woman, who spoke from the goodness of her heart. But “elderly”? Me? How did that happen? I mean, I’ve still got my box of animals and dinosaurs–doesn’t that count? I get no points for riding my bike no-handed? A doctor once gave me points for that.
My wife has COPD, and the men on my father’s side of the family tend not to live that long. Uh-oh. I do wish my book sales would go up before Father Time finishes sharpening his scythe.
Stonewall Jackson, when asked why he never seemed afraid to go into battle, said it was all in God’s hands. God would decide when the general’s time was up; and until that happened, he was as safe on the battlefield as he’d be in his own bed at home.
But I still don’t like being thought of as “elderly.” It’ll be “daft old trout” next.