Aging Superhero and Mid-life Crisis

I will be 44 in January. It's time to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.”
Well, I've thought about it. I don’t want to grow up.

First you’re born.
Then you grow up.

Then you work like a fucking dog
Then they squish your titties and stick a camera up your ass in the name of "preventative medicine and early detection.

Then you die.

Yep, I'm sure I don’t want to grow up.

So then I said to myself, “Maybe this is your midlife crisis, Dutch. You need to take a Xanax and nap.”

When I woke up I realized that I had been “dreaming” about shit that only old people think about. Like...

Fiber
Anyone named Obama.
Partially Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil
Nancy Pelosi
Colonoscopies and mammograms
Immigration Reform
Global Warming
Global Cooling
The Communists
Lawrence Welk
Gas prices
The early bird special
My current un-diet
My annual physical
The future
Death

And that was just one dream.

I was dreaming like an goddamn old person.

Where were all the hot Chippendale guys? A shirtless Kenny Chesney?? Where was the sweet little island home? Where the hell was the shoe store with every shoe I wanted in my perfect size? Where were the jeans molded to my perfect ass? That is what I use to dream about.

What in the bloody hell happened to my dreams?

So I’m totally bummed, and decide to shake it off, get tipsy and then, it happened. This came in the mail.

What. The. Motherfucking. Hell.

I can’t believe this.

Me.

In the A.A.R.P?

Do these people know I’m not turning 50 for 6 goddamn years? In the year 2017?

Communist bastards.

This has to be a goddamn satanic cult.

A.A.R.P.? I have an A.A.R.P. card?

They call it the A.A.R.P. because that’s the sound you make when you first open the envelope it comes in.

“AARP!!!!”

Why do I need to join the goddamn A.A.R.P.?

I’m already in the Beer of the Month Club.

This really really irks me. It really really does.

It’s bad enough that I sound like the goddamn “Tin Man” every time I get up from my couch now they want me to have an old person ID card?

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

So I go to their website to write them a scathing fuck you letter

Um…Wait a minute...

Maybe this isn’t so bad.

OOph look! I can get discounts to Disneyland and Sea World and Hertz and Hampton Inns. (I think there’s a law that says old people have to stay at a Hampton Inn or Motel 6)

I can get 50% off a “scientific” BBQ Thermometer that let’s me monitor my food from a 100 feet away.

They obviously these dickheads don’t know me that well. I’m never a 100 feet away from my goddamn food.

I can get 35% off a GPS device if I’m in the AARP.

How come all old people aren’t buying these kick ass things? Maybe then we wouldn’t be reading about these old people wandering the fuck off all the time. They should automatically send a GPS with the goddamn card. ..I'm just sayin'.

I spent an hour on the website. I can get discounts on everything!!! Then it hit me.

AARP is like a motherfucking COSTCO for old people! And it’s all online!!!

I’m starting to think this isn’t such a bad idea.

I start to picture myself coming up to a line of elderly people standing in line waiting for government cheese when I whip out and flash my A.A.R.P. card. “Stand aside assclowns! The Dutchess is here! I’m in the A.A.fuckingR.P.”

I can use this sweet gem of a card for everything! I’ll get it laminated and put it in it’s own little separate wallet spot and keep it in my purse next to that stupid plastic squeezy thing old people keep their change in.

Then I’ll whip it out like I’m a Ninja FBI agent.

“Dutchess of Dorkville, A.A.R.P.”

I’ll be almost like a secret agent for the old and decrepit.

Fuck, I could be an old person’s super hero!

A.A.R.P. Woman!!! Swooping down with long term health insurance and soft food.

I need a cape. SHYEAAAH!

And a walker that shoots Viagra, Celebrex, Bengay, Rolaids and Boniva.

Oh hell yes! I can still be somebody!!!!

“Dutch!!!”

“DUTCHESS!!! WAKE UP!!!”

“What rhe hell do you want Duke!!!?”

“You’re thrashing around in your sleep and yelling yippie-ki-yay motherfucker!!!”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Then you need to be commited. Now where are you going?”

“To the bat cave mister!”

“What?”

“Jeeze! To the goddamn bathroom okay?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I can’t tell you. I can never reveal my secret identity. Then I'd have to kill you, and then who would keep me in Jimmy Choo shoes and Coach bags?”

“Jesus, why can’t you just go out and change your hair color, hire a pool boy or take up real estate like most women having a midlife crisis?"

Well, my dear Duke Numb Nuts, I just might!

Fuck you very much.