Standing at the refrigerator eating pepperoncini out of the jar, an image flashed into my head. What would a senior citizen version of me look like in this scenario? Dentures retrieved from the nightstand, housecoat zipped up to here, stained slippers scuffing on the floor as I venture to kitchen in search of a snack. “Ah, pickles!” I clumsily twist open the jar with arthritic hands and proceed to scarf down a dozen sour dills. Bathed in the light of the fridge, the chilled air finds its way to my wrinkled, puckered skin.
Old Me is quite the sight to behold. I hope she’s happy.
At what age will I kick the habit of eating cake for breakfast? Is swilling olive juice as an octagenarian inappropriate? Will Hershey’s Syrup straight out of the bottle still taste as bitter sweet? When will having a Mr. Softee for lunch become out of the question? Will whole lemons be bettered enjoyed without teeth?
So many things for me to wonder.