A while back, something started to happen when Kissy Missy and I went to the movies.
When I bought the tickets, the word "senior" started appearing on the tickets.
Senior.
As in "Senior citizen."
I didn't ask for it. I just asked, as always, for "two for ... whatever."
And the helpful, perky young woman selling popcorn, Raisinets and tickets just punched in "Senior."
Old guy.
Elder.
Golden ager.
Ancient one.
Old timer.
Hey, I understand. The AARP has been after me since before I was 50. Some places give you a senior discount when you're 55.
Aged.
Geriatric.
Over-the-hill.
Old folk.
But the Celebration! Cinema policy, according to its website, is a senior discount for people 60 and over. I'm not there yet. My wife isn't even 50. I don't have any grandkids. I still have my hair, and it's not all gray.
Senescent.
Unyoung.
Decrepit.
Doddering.
Superannuated.
It saves me $3 on a night out. What the heck. I'll take it.
Old.
