Super Senior…

This is one of those milestone years in my life (I suppose that should read kilometrestone since I’m in Canada). I am officially into my 70th year.

My wife went to the local Recreation facility this week to buy new passes for the swimming pool and the attendant told her that I was now a “Super Senior”.

On the surface, that is a good thing, I think. I like the sound of the words “Super Senior”. At least, as it applies to me. It meant that I purchased my pass for significantly less than did my wife. She is younger than I. Her lament is that it isn’t fair that I should pay so little when I use much more water than she. It is a fact that I am larger and take up more space in the pool. And, she noted that I swim farther than does she. There must be more to it than this. I feel like I’m missing something–my own personal parking space near the entry to the pool perhaps.

Super Senior! The connotation  suggests that I can do more than the average senior. I’ve given that considerable thought. Should I now be able to leap tall footstools in a single bound–in my rush to make it to the bathroom in time? Faster than a speeding bullet! Ha! That’s after I pry myself from the confines of the napping chair. Am I now eligible for a prescription for afternoon naps? I’ll be sure to put that on my list of questions for my doctor.

I think I’ll get out the sewing machine and make myself a cape and …

GRB

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