It happened on a Monday in a Georgia McDonald’s.
I was given a “senior coffee” without requesting it.
Husband was happy to “save us some change,
But I spent time in the facilities gazing in the mirror.

A young whippersnapper had the audacity
to notice and assign my newest advancement
into the senior citizen category
without a question or my suggestion.

A bruised psyche followed me to the car,
where I counted my wrinkles in the rear-view mirror,
touched up my makeup, and re-braided my hair.
“Remember when we thought 63 was old?”

Was it my weight or my clothes?
Did I fumble with my debit card?
Maybe it was the bags under my eyes
or that I dressed for comfort rather than style.

I made proof-of-old-age lists in my head:
Less energy and more naps.
Heads don’t turn when I walked by.
If I trip people gasp instead of laugh.

Wait! I’m making the wrong list.
The alternative to aging is death.
It’s culture’s infatuation with youth
that is getting old.

Don’t you agree?

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I was in my early 60s and felt great. Being charge for a senior coffee really took me by surprise. But, I was in the south where they are taught to honor their elders. I decided to chalk up my dismay to the cultural practice.