Sometimes Spouse and I stop off at Burger Fling to pick up breakfast to take to the office. Madame Indecisive goes inside rather than idling away 20 gallons of expensive gas and risk being rear-ended and bumped out of the way by (rightfully) impatient hungry people. Spouse doesn’t like coffee. He also doesn’t like any form of cola. And he isn’t even a Mormon! Just a natural-born weirdo, but he was raised Caesarian, which may explain it. So, in the process of ordering our tasty, nutritious, healthy Burger Fling breakfasts, he always orders my coffee under the auspices of the Senior discount available to those age 55 and over which it clearly states on a small sign on their wall.
One day as we stepped up to the counter, Spouse announced, "Hey, you can order your own coffee now. You’re 55." He said that like it was a good thing. No sooner than those words had left his mouth, my attacker was upon me. He seemed to come from nowhere, and it turned out he had an accomplice waiting in the wings. I was struck in the head, the face, the knees, and the back. My head spun; I went into shock. There was no time for my whole life to flash before my eyes, but afterwards, I certainly had to re-assess things because everything had suddenly changed. I was OLD! Father Time had walked in to Burger Fling and bitch-slapped me right in front of everybody, and he had his good buddy, Father Death, waiting outside in the low-rider.
You would be amazed what that kind of attack does to the human body! It causes permanent aches and pains. It turns the hair silver/white. It makes the teeth jump ship. It makes the body’s curves redistribute into the most bizarre configuration. I’m going to Burger Fling tomorrow and make them take down that damned sign. This obviously is all their fault.