If you are 50 or more, you’re a candidate for limbo. Face it: 50 plusses live in a kind of limbo on earth. They get fewer invitations, they’re respected but pitied and considered to be a few feet ahead of the Grim Reaper. For the 20 to 40 plusses, they are outside the pale and unable to cross the street without help, put on a coat or pick up a dropped glove.
Now you may object to my bracketing 50 plusses like this. I can hear you saying, “That’s too young, I’m almost 50 myself.” Let me tell you, if you’re 50+, do-gooders are ready to pounce.
One day, when I was about 50 or so, I got on a subway, and a young woman, who looked to be in her early 20s, jumped up from her seat and offered it to me. I was mortified, incredulous and angry. Could she be mistaking me for her grandmother? She made me feel like 80. Another time a man offered me his place in line at the bank. (That I didn’t mind.)
One way to continue being active and scrap the years is to refuse such gestures. Don’t you agree?
