Oh, To be Old...

            “Hey Amelia…”

            “Don’t call me that! You know I go by Doris now.”

            “But Doris isn’t your real name.”

            “It’s not my fault my parents had me when they were only in their twenties. You just got lucky, that’s all. Rose is so timeless.”

            “I did get lucky, didn’t I? Rose—such an old-fashioned name. So much better than Amelia.”

            “It’s Doris!”

            “Okay, Doris, what do you want to do?”

            “I got the new issue of Elderly Bop.”

            “Who’s on the cover?”

            “Clint!”

            “Not him again.”

            “What’s wrong with Clint?”

            “Nothing’s wrong with Clint. There’s just other men out there too you know.”

            “Who do you like? Harrison Ford?”

            “He is dreamy, isn’t he? Can’t wait to see that new Star Trek flick. But he’s still not my favorite.”

            “Who then? You better not say Michael Caine.”

            “No way!”

            “Who? Tell me already!”

            “It’s Joe. Okay? My new crush is Joe.”

            “Joe Pesci?”

            “No! Joe Biden. Though Joe Pesci is sexy in an Italian sort of way.”

            “Joe Biden? I didn’t realize you were into politics.”

            “There’s just something about him. Something about the way he articulates everything he says. It’s like he’s smart or something. Smart can be sexy sometimes.”

            “I suppose. Did you hear about Jacob?”

            “What about him?”

            “He got some gray hairs over the summer.”

            “Bullshit! He’s only sixteen. They have to be fake.”
            “No. I’m telling you—he has gray hairs on the side of his head.”

            “He must have dyed them.”

            “No. He claims his uncle scared the shit out of him when they were camping one weekend. Made his hair go gray.”

            “Oh my God! He’s so lucky. I want to be scared like that.”

“Just look in the mirror.”

“Ha, ha, you’re so funny I forgot to laugh. Did you hear Emily got wrinkle implants?”

            “Wrinkle implants? That bitch! Must be nice to have rich parents.”

            “I know, I want wrinkles soooo bad. I’ve been smoking like two packs a day.”

            “Tell me about it. I’ve been smoking three. And cracking my knuckles like crazy.”

            “Cracking your knuckles?”

            “Yeah, you know, to get arthritis.”

            “That’s an old wives tale.”

            “I wish I was an old wife.”

            The girls laughed.

            “Want to go to the mall?”

            “Am I wearing depends?”

            “So, the answer’s yes.”

            “C’mon, let’s get ready.”

            The girls made their way to the bathroom, where they curled their hair, both of which was dyed the lightest tint of blue. They focused on themselves in the large vanity mirror as they each used an Age Enhancing Wrinkle Pen™ to draw fine wrinkles around their eyes. They then applied an overabundance of eye-shadow and blush, mascara and lipstick. In the closet they found baggy tan slacks and white blouses with large colorful flowers that seemed to jump from the polyester fabric. They finished off their wardrobe with fake pearl necklaces, large drooping earrings that sparkled with assorted plastic jewels, and numerous gold-colored bracelets of all styles that hung down their subtle wrists.

            “How do I look, Amelia?”

            “It’s Doris!”

            “Sorry. How do I look, Doris?”

            “Old. But not as old as me.”

            “Oh, screw you bitch.”

            They rode to the mall in Rose’s 1983 Cadillac Coup de Ville, a boat of a car in which she could barely see over the steering wheel. When they got to the parking lot they eyed the Handicap Parking spaces with envy. “I can’t wait until we can park there,” Doris said.

            Once they found a spot, Rose popped the trunk and pulled out a walker.

            “Where’d you get that?” Doris asked with disbelief.

            “My grandma left it to me in her will.”

            “I’m so jealous I could have a stroke.”

            “C’mon, let’s do some mall-walking.”

            The two girls walked slowly through the mall, eyeing other people and peering through store windows, but never actually purchasing anything. On the outskirts of the food court, they came upon two elderly men who were drinking coffee and playing a game of chess. “Oh my God,” Doris proclaimed. “They’re so sexy.”

            “Go talk to them.”

            “I can’t. They’re way too old for me.”

            “I dare you.”

            “What will you give me?”

            “A pack of menthols and handful of Werther’s Originals.”

            The deal was too good to turn down, so Doris took a deep breath and began her approach towards the two men. She didn’t get far. Almost immediately, her right foot got tangled in Rose’s walker and she began to stumble forward. But, like any able human being would, she caught her balance and staggered upright. Rose let out a loud chuckle, which embarrassed Doris immensely. She instantly realized that a real elderly woman would have simply fallen hard to the floor. In a moment of panic, she let her body go limp and plunged to the linoleum in a less than dramatic fashion.

            The old men paused their game to look at the girl lying on the ground beside their table. “Fucking kids,” the one on the left said before sliding his rook across the board.