Time Share

Time Share

“Do you need help?” a voice from behind. The dreaded ‘Do you need help…’”

I don’t feel old! Well, sometimes I do, but not ‘do you need help’ old! I’m only seventy-five! I’m strong, flexible, I carry my own weight! I’ve been told I could afford a few extra pounds. By the way, this is not admitting I had that metal statue in my pocket, on purpose, at my last doctor’s visit either! (My sister, Nancy, insisted I did; laughed her way out of the office.)

Granted, I’m small. I used to be five two! Now I can’t even hit five. But I don’t feel old, nor fragile. I’m not fond of mirrors, and yes, I often forget to brush my hair. (I never liked it even when I was young, stupid natural curls, always a rat’s nest.) But, I’m not ancient. I can do things!

Well! I’d had it with being considered old and fragile! I turned around like a tornado ready to give the speaker a piece of my mind! I don’t need anybody’s help, thank you very much! I almost fainted.

There before me was the most handsome older gentleman I had ever seen! He could do TV commercials he was so gorgeous. I’ll admit, I almost drooled. I don’t know what the look on my face said, but he suddenly seemed concerned! “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I mumbled, dreamily.

Relieved looking, he said, “Oh, good, you know, people your age… I was wondering if you have ever considered a Time Share?”

I didn’t mean to knock him out. My purse apparently hit a sensitive spot. The police were kind, they always are to us old ladies… I told them I thought he was trying to get my purse! (Actually… a “Time Share”? he pretty much was…)