Learning to Hate the Mail!

When I was in high school, I had a math teacher—Miss Pavidis—and she referred to all her students as young whippersnappers. Sad to admit, I have not been a young whippersnapper for a long, long time. I am no longer even a middle-aged whippersnapper, but rather someone that should probably be called ma’am even in New Jersey, where woman like me would still be referred to as “Miss,” even though I have been married over forty years and am the grandma of two little cuties.

I will soon be celebrating the third anniversary of my hip replacement, I have been covering my gray hair for ions, and my hands have age spots and old-lady veins showing through the skin. After careful calculations on timing, I began collecting my Social Security checks as soon as I could.

But this week, the final insult appeared in my mailbox confirming that I am forever a former young whippersnapper. My Medicare card arrived! Although I am not eligible for a few more months, our government has been reminding me for months that this is the big year. I told Grandma the awful news and she responded by saying, “How do you think that makes me feel?”

I am in the autumn of my life.

One thought on “Learning to Hate the Mail!

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