A terrible thing happened to me yesterday. A very nice student, a gay man in his early fifties, said to me after class, “Do you mind if I ask you a very personal question?”
“Of course not,” I said.
“Did I hear you mention that you’re 76 years old?”
Only a slight pause for sharp intake of breath.
“Heavens no,” I laughed gamely. “I’m only 65!”
“Well, I thought you looked awfully good for 76.”
76. He thought I might conceivably be 76! I know I’ve been looking pale and drawn these days, as winter comes in. But not THAT bad. Oh well. It’s just that my son, for my birthday present, has arranged for a portrait photographer girlfriend of his come and try to get a decent shot of all five of us – me, daughter, son, two grandbabies. The chances of that are slim – I am the least photogenic person on earth, Eli refuses to smile on cue and Ben grizzles a lot. Luckily my children are extremely good-looking.
But this is happening after I teach today, and I look 76.
No wonder – I spent the most aggravating hour and a half, yesterday and today, with Rogers. First world problems. Jon Stewart has announced he will do stuff on HBO and so I decided I should at last get that channel. Great stuff on HBO – Bill Maher too. But I refuse to pay more than the king’s ransom I’m paying Rogers already, could they make that happen? A friendly guy yesterday, another today, absolutely, they would change my package from the VIP package to the Extra Lifestyle Package. I ‘d like some Extra Lifestyle, we 76 year olds could use it. However, after much trying and unplugging the cable box and waiting endlessly on hold while the hideous music plays, it turns out that no, I will not be able to get HBO without paying even more of a king’s ransom and getting all kinds of other channels I don’t want.
So my dear Jon – I hope you will also appear on the internet.
And now this ancient crone will hobble out into her day. Cackling.