Thirty- something speaks
AARP can wait, I need a Corvette convertible
Mike Maddock

It's official! I'm getting old.

My body has been given me hints for years like the fact the hair on my head seems to be making room for the hair just above my eyes and on my ears. I spend more time grooming my eyebrows than I do trying to get a decent part. It's a pitiful thing and indication of God's sense of humor like the fact that the more I sleep, the more immobile I become in the morning.

Sometimes my back is so stiff it's an adventure just putting on my socks and shoes. I'm starting to understand the black socks with sandals phenomena more and more. I mean, once those work socks go on, I can see where it's tempting just to leave them on the next day and step into a pair of flip- flops. No bending involved there.

That's all beside the point though. I can hide all that and internalize my little aging issues no matter how much my back hurts or my eyebrows blossom. That's why God invented Advil and those tiny scissors, but what I can't handle is written documentation that I'm fast leaving the prime of my existence.

Written documentation is exactly what I received the other day in the mail.

I got a letter from AARP, which said and I quote, "Our records show that you haven't yet registered for the benefits of AARP membership, even though you are fully eligible."

Fully eligible??? What does that mean?

I could look on the bright side and assume the good people at AARP have been monitoring me for quite some time and think I have earned the right to play a little shuffleboard and some Canasta. All my hard work has paid off and now somebody wants to reward me with a little rest, relaxation, and all the benefits of AARP membership.

That's a nice way to look at this letter of injustice, but realistically the folks at AARP probably just think I'm getting old, and they want what little I'll have left for their coffers.

Well, I've got news for them. This letter is going in the little round file under my desk with the Viagra brochures and the Hair Club junk mail. I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet. I may be on the verge of a nuclear mid- life crisis, but I'm not ready to join AARP.

I'll save my membership dues for a Corvette convertible and some barbells like any good man fighting the aging process with every fiber of his aching being. I'll flip my collar up and start spending insane amounts of time in a tanning bed before I give in.

So consider this my rejection of your little letter Mr. AARP. I've got to buy a Harley Davidson and some Steppenwolf records before I join your little club. My aching back and misplaced hairs might say differently, but I'm not ready for retirement. I may be ready for a massage therapist and a discreet barber, but I'm not ready for your organization.