And Another Thing...

The next snot-nosed, lip-pierced, eyeshadow-slathered movie box-office or grocery checkout Britney who asks me if I want a senior discount is in for a tongue-lashing unheard of outside of an Alec Baldwin family phone call. I am not a senior. I don't intend to be a senior. And the only time I am EVER going to ask for a senior discount is on my death bed when I'm around 97 (I hope), when I will ask for a discount on the morphine drip. I run 3-5 miles every day, I went 3 for 5 at this year's UMass Lowell Reunion Baseball Game, and anybody who has sat through one of my note sessions after a rehearsal knows I have more energy than any 21st Century high school slacker who sells tickets at Showcase Cinemas. Stop asking! Anybody who wants a discount will ask for a discount. Those of us who don't want one, will not ask for one, and we do not want to be asked! Get it? Just because there's a little gray hair sticking out from under the sides of our Red Sox caps does not mean we are seniors. Shut DF Up!