I secretly have no patience for old people.

Tuck your tits into your belt and let’s go play Bingo.

I secretly have no patience for old people. I keep it to myself mostly, but I am shamefully ashamed. I can’t help it, they’re just so crotchety. I love Bingo, but those old bitches be scary. You know I’d so get my ass kicked in a Bingo hall as those ladies are some kind of seriousness, aren’t they? And old people do not like it when I “borrow” their walkers at the mall. They never learned to share during the Depression I guess.

Being near them makes me really itchy too. I don’t know if it’s the reminder of my impending mortality, the fear of old people farts (my Great Grandma’s were epic), the fact that they always need something and I just don’t feel really helpful that day, or that I’m afraid to enjoy them as humans only to have them verbally thwap me on the nose like a puppy when the mood strikes. I guess I’ve had some bad experiences with oldies in my life.

I see them from afar and I smile about them though. I want to be that grouchy, old man that just popped a wheelie on his motorized scooter crossing the street. I want to be the one everyone caters to.

But yet, I don’t really enjoy the feeling of adult diapers and that old people smell that seems to emanate from every single one of them. Like wet rot in the bathroom, you know something doesn’t smell quite right but you don’t want to pry open the floor or walls to find out either.

The last time I went in for lab work the waiting room was full of old people that smelled like refreshing 30-year-old eau de toilette and bacon. Why do I find this hilarious?

Plus, so many of them are just hateful, awful creatures, aren’t they? To the lady who almost beat me with your purse for offering to help you at Target, you’re welcome, you ungrateful cunt.

And yes, to my old neighbor on the corner, those dog piles are from my dog late at night since you took it upon yourself to yell at my child as he dutifully cleaned up dog poop from your lawn, so we left you a few to remember us by. It’s not like you’re using that lawn anyway. I have yet to see you rolling in the grass or dancing naked during the Beltane on it, so you can share your space since blades of grass are few and far between in this concrete neighborhood and my dog has needs.

So, I guess I can’t decide if I cannot wait to be a hateful old person myself, or if I’ll just give you permission to euthanize me before I get mean.


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