I went to the garden center at Home Depot on my lunch break. I like having plants in my house and had decided to take on putting together a little planter box of succulents (saying that word makes me hungry). Anyway, per usual, there were about 60 old people there.
When it comes to general observation and interpersonal interaction, there is nothing better than a fine, well-aged, all-American old person. All I want is a careful hug from every old person I see. But instead, I must settle with easing my cart up next to theirs in Home Depot and pretending not to bed delighted that they are old and cute. I resent that it is socially unacceptable for me to hug them without first having to talk to them in order to actualize a reason.
Maybe it was the brightness of the sun today, but I did realize that old people make incredibly strange faces (the squint, the open-mouth, the perma-grin) for extended periods of time. Their facial expression has little to do with their current situation, however, and probably more to do with comfort or muscle control. Either way, this unreadability further discourages my hug-seeking.
I certainly know that I am not the only person affected by the infirmity of old people. It's a widely held sentiment. That is why Hollywood uses their vulnerability and frailness as emotional pawns during movies. The classic old-person-realizing-their-oldness makes me frantic with emotion every time (see: The Shawshank Redemption [Brooks], Awakenings [ALL OF THEM], Harold and Maude [Maude, duh]). Old people.