BREAKING: I am old.
I noticed today at one of my favorite restaurants in Hayward, where the sign outside advertises "Restaurant," that I qualify for a senior discount.
At first depressed, I realized this was a golden opportunity -- one of the benefits of aging.
So I ordered myself a open-faced roast beef and mashed potato special, all slathered in low-sodium gravy.
All I needed to complete my old person meal was a cup of Sanka and reruns of "Matlock" on a loop.
(Note: I was the only person at "Restaurant" salting his low-sodium gravy.)
And damn-it-all, it was awesome. Part of the deal is the senior meals are smaller -- perfect for me. I don't need two to three pounds of food at any meal.
My depression moved to appreciation -- as well as the afore-mentioned salt and a fair amount of pepper.
Then, an hour later, it moved to "old man needs nappy time." I might try the George Costanza resolution of getting nap time under my desk. Sadly I can't. When I sleep, I snore like the sound of a puma eating a shrimp cocktail with zesty cocktail sauce.
Now, you must forgive me, as I have to rail at neighborhood children, question Social Security (even though I don't collect until I'm 104 years old) and go to bed at 8 p.m.
Peace and sweet dreams unto all of you my brothers and sisters.