Recently I discovered a buffet place in Spokane Valley that has what is called "Senior Afternoon Delight" with really low prices for all you can eat between 2:00 and 3:45. For $6.50, a senior can stuff themselves to the gills. And this place thinks "seniors" are anyone 55 and older. Heck! I qualify! Who would have thought this??
It's with mixed blessings that I can be a "senior." One – it means I am OLD. When I look in the mirror, that isn't a 59-year-old lady looking back at me. She's 40 if she's a day. (Which makes me four when I had my oldest son.) Being a senior explains all the little aches and pains. But I'm going to dwell in my happy denial that it is nothing, it will go away. And pop more arthritis-strength Tylenol. Being a senior means memory loss, creaky voice, poor eyesight – I may have to give up these Rite-Aid glasses for the real prescription strength, doctor approved spectacles.
But this is what I discovered at the Senior Afternoon Delight. I am still a baby to the majority of the people that were in there. I was about the only one without a cane, a walker, or a wheelchair. And I eat way more than any ten of them. I was a mad cow – devouring steak (I have my own teeth), mashed potatoes and gravy (my cholesterol is still under the radar), desserts up the ying yang, pasta, chicken, pork, beef, sweet rolls, dinner rolls, cinnamon rolls, something piled high with brown sugar and butter, pies, cakes, brownies, fudge. While all around me are plates of bits of salad, peas, beans, and other good-for-you stuff – nothing touching something else and no multi-layers of Food! Food! Food!
Finally I found a benefit to being "old." Now where is that bottle of Tums.