So I’ve been on this kick lately. Josh has gotten himself in some legal trouble in the past, the sort of thing that comes with the territory of being a rambunctious young adult male. Whatever. But every now and then I have to remind him that certain things aren’t such a great idea, like stealing an antennae from a cop car. I’m all for the rebel streak, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like to at least stay under the wire until the legal issues surrounding his current situation and its impact on the brouhaha that is getting one of our asses over the border have long settled down.
However, I’m not a total prude. And eventually, I say fuck it. You see, I’ve been glamourizing the elderly lately. Well not really, ’cause they’re still old and doddery with their change counting and step-shuffling. I’ve been glamourizing being old. I don’t mean old as in “Oh dear me, which wrinkle cream shall I choose to fight whatever number signs of aging the most expensive brand tells me I need to erase?” I mean old as in getting kicks out of a more realistic cryptkeeper look for scaring the shit out of the neighbourhood brats at Halloween.
I’ve got plans for those years, and I’m planning on Josh being with me. I’m sure we’ll be a little more on the frail side, but certainly no less bad ass. I used to want a nice car and have my hair done up every day, the posh old lady who’s offspring had better visit lest they be cut from the will. Nowadays, I’m more about the rickety old truck and big baggy pants. I’ll do the classy thing for a while, with the Hyacinth Bucket hats and obnoxious suits. But once the big 8-0 hits, I figure there’s more important things in life. Like living a little. And so, I have made plans for an elderly crime spree. Natch, Josh will probably be a bit more extreme than I.
Here’s what I see coming:
1. Loiter, loiter, loiter. I want to go to Timmy Ho’s and see how long it takes them to kick me out after buying one itty bitty coffee.
2. Shake, rattle and roll baby! You know the shaky old ladies sliding pennies across the counter at the pharmacy? Fuck that, I’m gonna be the one to sprinkle them all over the floor and make awkward bystanders pick them up for me. Josh is expected to clear out the take-a-penny-leave-a-penny dish.
3. Petty theft ahoy. I got in so much trouble for stealing a Skor bar when I was five. Or maybe I was never actually caught but I had to live with the fear of getting in trouble. Either way, nobody is going to stop a little old lady from walking out of the store with a chocolate bar or a pair of big plastic earrings in her confused hands, especially if she’s muttering about Julie or some other imaginary grandchild.
4. Public urination. This one is more for Josh. I figure he can pee on trees in the park while I loiter nearby with my stolen chocolate. Cause peeing outdoors is difficult enough for chicks even when we don’t have brittle bones and creaking joints. However, I do plan to talk very loudly about my need for Depends, even if I don’t actually need them.
5. Impeding traffic. I’m half blind as it is, so I’m assuming I’ll have my license (if I ever get one) taken away well before 80. And Josh, wellllllll not so much with the driving. But there are scooters! Not the cool not-quite-a-motorcycle scooters that you can take for sweet jumps, but the motorized carts with little baskets on the front or back and a sign on the back that says “I may be slow, but at least I’m in front of you!”
Step one: drive cart halfway through intersection.
Step two: slow down as that little counter on the crosswalk starts to flash.
Step three: turn half way around, get lost.
Step four: as light turns in favour of oncoming traffic, putter back and forth, forgetting what the point of crossing the street was in the first place.
Step five: escorted home by police, preferably to the kids’ house as payback for all the times I’m assuming they’ll be brought home by the cops.
6. Embezzlement. Still haven’t worked this one out yet.
7. Rampant drug use. Okay, it’s already pretty apparent that I smoke weed every single day because it’s just plain good for you. But I’m not retarded enough to go lighting up a joint as I’m walking down the street. Mostly because I don’t know how to roll, although that’s beside the point. I’m completely convinced that even if it hasn’t been legalized sixty years from now, there’s going to be way worse shit distracting the po-po from one rickety old couple with funny smelling cigarettes and a really bad craving for something deep fried.
8. Drunk and Disorderly in Public. Because really, why not?