I was more frightened by the old woman crossing the street, than the homeless man who insisted on opening the door for me this morning. I figured he meant no harm. Man, but that old lady looked as though she was walking with a vengeance. I suppose when I’m 87-years-old i’ll have the same fierce look in my eyes—and I can’t wait!
Perhaps I fibbed a little bit. Old women don’t actually scare me, the thought of being old scares me. It’s not so much the wrinkling or sagging. What scares me is that one day I’ll realize that I’ve experienced, tasted, and slept with just about all that I need to. So where does a person go from there? What do you do with all that knowledge? Will a teenybopper call me ancient, old-fashioned, narrow-minded? (My little sisters say that already.)