That streak of gray

So yesterday I was in a thrift store in the city, purchasing a replacement coat for the one I have with a broken zipper. I brought the garment up to the register, and the nice lady asked me if I was 55 or older. “Actually, I’m exactly 55,” I said. “Why?”

“Because you get a 20 percent senior discount,” she replied, punching the keys on the cash register.

Ouch.

I suppose it was inevitable, but honestly, that’s the first time I’ve been “rewarded” for being a “senior.” I put “senior” in quotes because I sure don’t feel like one. But I guess that long streak of gray in my otherwise brown hair is a giveaway. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted.

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my dear mother, it’s to age gracefully. Mom never dyed her hair or fought the wrinkles. I guess now it’s my turn to do the same.

But still. Ouch.