Yet again I’m re-classified. See my April 2015 post : APPARENTLY I’M A STRAY, ELDERLY LABRADOR DOG . This time I’m doing the re-naming. Not the younger generation. By now you’re thinking: what? has the woman discovered an unpalatable truth about her heritage? No, no dear readers. For many years, S.O.B. was the euphemism used in American fiction to avoid the insulting term “son of a bitch”. I am now using the term to describe myself as a Silly Old Bat. Much more ladylike, and absolutely true.
Why am I admitting to being a silly old bat? I recently used my Mastercard to buy a theatre ticket on-line, and I hesitate to admit this, punched in the wrong pin number. What’s more, I used the wrong number three times. Consequently, my bank refused to have anything to do with further transactions on my Mastercard. this in turn meant I had to go to the Bank, grovel, admit to being a s.o.b. and … oh it’s a boring story, and proves that old women frequently get their brains in a tangle, despite valiant efforts to avoid making silly, old lady mistakes.
Like I said: I’m a S.O.B. Disempowered by a pin. Aging brain cells betraying me yet again. Pins usually keep two objects together don’t they? Think safety pins. My Mastercard pin did nothing of the sort. It proved to be my un-doing.
The poet who proclaimed Grow old along with me/The best is yet to be, definitely wasn’t living in the electronic age. Furthermore, he was way off beam with this couplet. Old age has very little to recommend it let alone qualify for inclusion in the Best category.