I don't have to do that anymore?

I had my "Welcome to Medicare" physical last week.  I think this may be an result of  Obamacare (thank you) but I don't really care how it came to be. I've turned 65. I no longer have to pay thousands of dollars a year for private insurance or go to Canada for my meds. I am officially old. I have Medicare. And I have drug coverage. (Drugs aren't free but they are cheaper).

During my physical I had a nice long chat with my Internist. He's been my doctor for at least 18 years and we've never spent this much time together. It was like a date.  He asked me all sorts of personal things - although he didn't ask me what my sign was. Like any new couple we argued about tests I should have but don't want and shots I should get but don't sound all that necessary to me. And then he said, "You know, you no longer need to have an annual Pap test."

What?

Why not? I asked.

"It's just no longer necessary.  It's up to you.  I know you see Dr. B______ but it's not longer critical."

Well yes it is. I love my gynecologist. I've had a crush on him for thirty years. He's cute, sexy , and gentle. He's a fantasy I almost get to live out once a year.  And now I don't HAVE to?

Well that sucks.  Maybe I won't tell Dr. B.  Maybe he doesn't know.  I'm going anyway.  Need it or not.

The Rewards of Shopping

"Would you like to have the senior discount applied?" asked the rosy cheeked eighteen year old behind the counter.

Let's pause and roll back.

I had to make a quick trip to Walgreens.  Normally I would head for Target - much more fun to shop at Target. Better prices too. But, I digress.  So there I am in the check out line. There are five people behind me. I am wearing skinny jeans, boots, and a big puffy jacket. It's minus something or other outside. My makeup is on nicely. My hair is messy-wavy-curly - it is also silver, white and black depending on where you look.   This hair-thing was not a voluntary decision -it was the result of a pretty icky allergy that threatened to kill me.

I quickly concluded that if my hair were brown - or even blonde - this girl would not have asked me this question.

I looked up from wrestling with my wallet and stared at her for a few seconds while I gathered my composure. "So, " I asked, "was it the hair? Did you ask me because of my hair?" She was stunned, flustered. "Um um, " she struggled, "um no Ma'am (ma'am????) I sort of ask everyone.".  I looked down the line behind me and spotted a thirtyish brunette talking to her cell phone. I pointed and said, "Will you ask her? "Probably not, " the young woman replied. I smiled - not a friendly smile. More like sinister, "Then  , sure I'll take the discount."

I guess all that qualifies me as a mean old lady.