One Hundred Years Young

Photo by Phil Hearing on Unsplash

My friend Winnie bringin’ me to the senior center taday to have lunch. Same thing we do every Friday. Winnie shouldn’t be driving no more. She’s one of them old ladies in a Grand Marquis, can’t barely see over the dashboard, just creepin’ along the highway. Thirty miles a hour.

I can’t be the one to tell her, so’s I just sit here real quiet. Finally we there and the parking lot is near full. Being that I’m a hundred, she slips her boat into the handicapped spot right out front. I don’t need no wheelchair and I never am happy she’s doin’ this.

We walk into the dining room and ever’one who can still stand, stands and starts a clappin’. I look behind me, some celebrity comin’ in the door?

A real nice-lookin’ young man helps me to my chair. Then someone hands him a microphone and he’s tellin’ ever’one how it’s my hundred year birthday.

After dinner, he’s askin’ me a bunch of fool questions.

“What’s your first memory?”

“I lived near Montgomery, Alabama. A tornado near tore up our little house.”

“Do you remember who was president when you were a child?”

“Woodrow Wilson. But he wasn’t doin’ nothing. My ma tol’ me he had a stroke so he couldn’t do nothing at the end, kind of like the predicent we got now. But I thought she said, “stork” and I wondered why he and his wife havin’ a baby when he so old. . . hmm, kinda like the predicent we got now. That man look like a cross ‘tween a jellyfish face and a rottin’ pumpkin and got about as much brains as the two of ‘em.”

He ain’t goin’ to be there much longer, you can mark my words. I predict he gonna be in jail real soon.”

Man’s just sittin’ there not knowing what to say. Badge on his jacket sayin’, “Fox News”. Must be from some wild animull magazin about foxes like the one we got now in charge of dat henhouse in Washinton.

Her writing muse lurks in the volcanic hills amidst mustangs, marmots and jackalopes. While hiking with her dogs, Ann stumbles upon stories of dark humor.

Her writing muse lurks in the volcanic hills amidst mustangs, marmots and jackalopes. While hiking with her dogs, Ann stumbles upon stories of dark humor.