You have the depressing future to look forward to!
I am often solicited by the AARP to become a member. While I don’t have many of the traits that generally define those worthy of an invite to such an exclusive club, such as being retired, I did cash out my defined retirement plan when I left my job in 2006. Apparently, that’s good enough for the AARP. I don’t have the receding hairline, gold watch, failing memory or zest for life after 60 that most AARP members have, but I do have a dogged determination to keep your damn hands off my gold. My gold! Back! No!!! Bad! Bad dog!!!!
I’ve yet to actually heed the call to join the zombified ranks, despite excellent offers of cash back at my favorite restaurants and haunts, mostly because Annie seems to be somehow repulsed/disillusioned/unamused by my desire to be a card-carrying member. Perhaps she doesn’t realize I could get 3% cash back at my favorite restaurants. And haunts.
Today’s mail revealed a more sinister side of AARP membership; a side that left a chill in my bones and a sense of foreboding that, despite my best efforts, I may miss out on the free gift I can’t take with me after I die and am buried at King Memorial Park. Snarkiness aside, I can’t imagine what the free gift could possibly be. Why don’t you guys hang onto the free gift? My mausoleum is going to be pretty full of mummified things.
Snarkiness aside for real this time: Many people have tried to sell me many things, but never before a grave site. It makes death seems so … pragmatic. Like getting a diaper bin at a baby shower. There’s always going to be a lot of shit to deal with. That’s life and death, I guess.
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