On a slow Saturday afternoon, down at the retirement home, a boxing match was not uncommon.
The Master Plan
Submitted by Mo on Mon, 27/02/2012 - 12:37
In a few months I’m going to reach thirty. As old age beckons I’ve realised that I need to formulate a master plan, a delicately constructed campaign of tomfoolery that will mess with the world as we know it. Not a day goes by without an elderly rogue throwing a spanner in the works and it is my duty to continue the life-cycle. Failure to do so could upset the balance of the universe.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not having a dig at old people. I have infinite respect for my elders and love my grandparents, their shenanigans aside, but before I reach the age where I instinctively do my week’s shop at a petrol station during the Monday morning rush hour I want to have a plan in place, written in stone so I don’t forget it.
I’ve learnt a lot from Uncle Frank, an eccentric gentleman who is nobody’s uncle and is probably not called Frank. In many ways he is my benchmark. “Excuse me,” I’ve heard him say, as he took the hand of an old dear on the street, “are you the Queen of Sheba?” And then there is my wife’s late grandfather, who kept an air rifle by his bedroom window to shoot at squirrels. He bought the gun after breaking a hip in an ill-fated squirrel-drowning incident. I definitely need to spend some more time with Great Uncle John, I’m sure he has many things to teach me.
A few weeks ago I was attempting to take a left at a busy crossroads. A car was parked right on the corner on a double yellow. Amidst the chaos, with horns blaring and middle-fingers waggling, two old men stood in the road by the car, blissfully unfazed by the surrounding bedlam, engrossed in examining an antiquated lampshade. To be fair on them, at least they had their hazards on.
The other day, when driving down a pleasant tree-lined road, we came perilously close to knocking down an elderly lady. With her brown coat and fluffy leaf-green hat she was perfectly disguised as a tree. Thank God everyone was ok, but at least it gives me plenty of ammunition. By the time I am eighty I would like to have an entire wardrobe of disguises. Post-box, lamppost, snowman, rhododendron.
Comments
Don't forget the bb gun.
Don't forget the bb gun. Also good for pesky cats and dogs. You could disguise yourself as a fire hydrant so as to get them within range. But the single most important survival tactic you will need as you grow old (I speak from experience) is to develop a strong sense of "Don't Give A Shit!" (As evidenced by the two old men and the lamp shade.) This condition happens quite naturally as you grow older and accept your inability to anything about anything, but it should not be taken for granted and, like most things, it takes a good deal of practice to get it right.
I like the fire hydrant idea
I like the fire hydrant idea though I would have to shrink to a realistic size first, maybe I should start dieting now.
Forget Mr. C's fire hydrant
Forget Mr. C's fire hydrant idea. If the British fire hydrant is configured as the U. S. one, it could prove to be excruciatingly unpleasant...if not dangerous. As Murphy would have it, a fire will break out and the fire people will have to "unscrew" the fire plug to access the water. The fire plug is located in the middle of the hydrant, about half way down. I believe they use a very large wrench (not wench...WRENCH). Although, the flip of that is...some of us could use a little fire plug unscrewing...or is that screwing. My old man brain forgets.
I can't decide whether I
I can't decide whether I should or shouldn't disguise myself as a fire hydrant...to be honest I think Mr. C has a lot to answer for.
almost 30...i am almost 40..
almost 30...i am almost 40...we were actually just talking about that last night...i think my wife was making a point...any way...squirrel drowning accident? i find that rather fascinating...and if you see me in the street talking about lamps you have my permission to take matters into your own hands...
In short, he laid squirrel
In short, he laid squirrel traps and then drowned the scoundrels in a bucket. In his excitement he broke a hip.If I catch you in the street talking about lamps I'm going to shoot you with Charleston's BB gun.
I'll be 30 in 3 years, 3
I'll be 30 in 3 years, 3 months and 6 days, roughly, and I've had my master plan all worked out for years now. I will dye my hair blue, sit on a park bench all day long and throw bingo balls at the birds and at any unsuspecting people walking by.
To be perfectly honest I'm a
To be perfectly honest I'm a tad disappointed - bowling balls would give your master plan a lot more umph.
That is true, I'll give you
That is true, I'll give you that.. But the bingo balls are a lot more senior citizen, don't you think? And I have a good arm, too, I'd make it hurt.
But you need to factor
But you need to factor strength and accuracy weakening with age - the last thing you want is for your grand master plan vanish into a morbid scene of you rolling bingo balls at lampposts. That would be an awful shame.
Then again, since your master
Then again, since your master plan will probably at some point have you dressed as a lamppost, chances are I'll be rolling those bingo balls at you. And given your close proximity to thirty right now while I'm still practically in diapers, you'll be much, much weaker than me by the time I'm rolling those bingo balls at you. It can only end in a glorious strike for me, and hip surgery for you.
You're failing to factor in
You're failing to factor in Charleston's BB gun. If a bingo ball hits me where it hurts then I'm going to set him upon you. Anyway, ultimately you will have to face the fact that with my three years seniority and senility I'm going to be much more dangerous.
Oh yes, you're just
Oh yes, you're just titillatingly dangerous, especially to old ladies dressed as shrubs. However, you failed to factor in the fact that I never fail to factor in anything. I saw Charleston's BB gun coming way before your Alzheimer-ridden brain even pondered the possibility of sicking a guy with a BB gun on a perfectly innocent young woman, which is why I plan to hide that very BB gun and then forget all about where I hid it. Ultimately, you will have to face the fact that a woman is always in control, no matter how much older you are. And sometimes, she will be wielding bingo balls.
You've lost the plot, despite
You've lost the plot, despite being a mere whippersnapper. In this fictional world of the future you're no longer a "perfectly innocent young woman", you're an 80-something menace to society. Even now I'm preparing my incognizant future self with shields, snacks and disguises. I'll crush your bingo balls with my super-charged mobility devices.
In this not-quite-so
In this not-quite-so fictional world of the future I might be an 80-something menace to society, but you, old man, you will always be three pesky years older than me, thus making me a perfectly innocent young woman to you. Always.
*blink*I'm not at all phased.
*blink*I'm not at all phased. Once I've found the Fountain of Youth I'll be fine. Having drunk from the silver goblet I'll then discover the coveted Bingo Ball Shield of Protection and I'll be fine, absolutely fine. Or we could team up and avoid all this artifact-hunting as I can't be arsed.
It's a universal truth that
It's a universal truth that the Fountain of Youth can only be found by Monty Python or Johnny Depp. But I will take pity on you and agree to team up with you in our old age. But only if I can pretend my walking cane is a lightsaber.
Whatever makes you happy. I'm
Whatever makes you happy. I'm pretending my lightsaber is a cane.
You're funny for an old man.
You're funny for an old man.
*trumpet sounds*I'm off to
*trumpet sounds*I'm off to celebrate.
I'd definitely go for the
I'd definitely go for the crazy hats. and feather boas. the feather boa is a must.
Can old men make feather boas
Can old men make feather boas work for them?
For years my master plan
For years my master plan included blue hair, slippers, a bathrobe and conscious delirium. I still daydream about the time where I will be able to fully pull off elders gone wrong and put all those around me in a state of pure panic. Now, that I am in my thirties, I have already dabbled a bit in the wearing of slippers in public and behaving like a lunatic. Today, I caught the ear of a man standing in line before me, as I noticed the clerk holding a calendar that went to the year 2014 and declared "I can't believe they wasted the time to print calendars that far in advance since we are all going to be dead come December 21st." Overwhelmed with horrid curiosity he craned his neck around to get a good look at the loon behind him. I wasn't much older than he, but it made for good practice.
Pure genius. December 21st?
Pure genius. December 21st? What a bizarre and pointless date for the world to end. As I think about it it is perfect. It's actually quite convincing because the world SHOULD end on a pointless day. I'd prefer it to end on a Tuesday.
Mo, darling, you're back!
Mo, darling, you're back! Hot damn (as we say in Texas)!
I will be 50 on December 22 this year. Well, if the Mayans don't end the world the day before. (The Mayan Calendar ends on December 21, 2012, which is the basis for the guy's complaint about the calendar in Harmony's comment).
Back and ready to post like
Back and ready to post like hot damn. With the world ending soon I better get cracking.
Mo, this is funny stuff, I
Mo, this is funny stuff, I think. It would be funnier in English. You lost me at "spanner" and "petrol." Thanks for the comment on my blog. It's good to see you're still among the living. And, by the way, life doesn't end at 30. It just sucks. Cheers.
Buddy it's been a long time
Buddy it's been a long time indeed since we last chatted and now I've gone and thrown nonsense at you. I am alive though, and thanks to you extremely pessimistic about 30 onwards...
I think everyone should have
I think everyone should have an Uncle named Frank who is nobody's uncle and also most likely not called frank. I have an Uncle George who I see at the deli most mornings. He has a huge, grey beard that is basically a mess of corkscrew curls and an old fisherman's hat that is as easily as old as he is. He throws out words of wisdom such as "You must never trust the gas man. " or "Bagels are for pussies." He also calls me beautiful. Oh Uncle George.
It's been entirely to long Mo. Glad to read you again.
Far too long, nice to see you
Far too long, nice to see you again girl. I'd like Uncle George to meet Uncle Frank, though quite what they would do to the world does worry me a bit.
And seriously, next time you
And seriously, next time you see Uncle George explain to him that bagels are the food of the gods.
Well, hullo to you too! Are
Well, hullo to you too! Are you back, Mo? I'm so excited! ((((hugs))))
What do you mean am I back?
What do you mean am I back? This is actually the blog of my imaginary friend...! Yep, I'm back :)
Ye Gods! Almost 30?! That's
Ye Gods! Almost 30?! That's adorable. I'll be 50 in September.
They say 50 is the new 30.
Don't they???
Wait, are you saying I'm
Wait, are you saying I'm basically almost 50?
I think you would make a
I think you would make a lovely rhododendron. Also, I'm a big fan of having plans. By the time you're old like me (aka 33), I expect you to have a closet full of surprises. I mean, disguises.
I can only begin to imagine
I can only begin to imagine what the old age of 33 is like. I'm terrified.
I'm staring down 50 later
I'm staring down 50 later this year and I have to tell you that master plans are subject to the fickleness of life. Two decades ago I was sure that by now I'd be shaking my cane from the window and yelling, "Get off my goddamn lawn!" at the neighbor children. Instead, I'm feeding the squirrels, chatting with the neighbor kids, and making myself dizzy with the variety of men I've gone out with over the last several years. Maybe I just need a new master plan.
Maybe your master plan was to
Maybe your master plan was to chat to the neighbor children and squirrels in order to lull them into a false sense of security.
Thirty huh? You're a BABY!
Thirty huh? You're a BABY! I can practically see your rosy little cheeks from here. :)
Being so ancient and all, maybe you didn't notice that lady WAS a tree? Huh? Have you checked your prescription yet, grandpa!
*baby!
Oi Ms Veg, how can I fairly
Oi Ms Veg, how can I fairly react when I don't know your age? Let me know how many moons have passed since you graced the world with your presence and I'll give your comment due consideration.
Good plan. I think older
Good plan. I think older people know exactly what they're doing when they get up to their crazy antics. They're messing with us because they know they can.
But what are you going to do
But what are you going to do about it?
Oh I hear ya. If I'm not
Oh I hear ya. If I'm not getting arrested at 99 years old I'm not worthy of carrying on my grandmother's legacy.
That's the spirit. I wonder
That's the spirit. I wonder how many 99 yr-olds do get arrested. Probably millions.
I think we need a gang....
I think we need a gang....
You can be our leader.
You can be our leader.
Rhododendrons work for me.
Rhododendrons work for me. Mostly cos I just wanna hear old people say that word, "rhododendrons." Ha!!!!
Yes, but what's your master
Yes, but what's your master plan?
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