A couple of nights ago, I heard on the news that an elderly woman had been attached in her own home.
My first thought was, what is this world coming to, even though I know? My next thought was even your home isn’t sacred to someone who intends harm, whether physical, mental or monetary.
Feeling sorry for this woman, I continued to listen to the story. That’s when, lets say this nicely, I wanted to reach into the television and grasp the news reporter firmly by the shoulders, give him a good shake and say, “What are you thinking?”
He reported that this elderly woman of fifty-five, did you get that? When did elderly become fifty-five? Elderly is at least ninety, maybe even one hundred but not fifty-five.
Years ago, when I (age eighteen) married my first husband, I truly thought his mother was a beauty, even for her age. Trying to give compliments, the words haunt me now; I told her that I hoped I looked as well as her when I got to be her age. With her forty-two years of wisdom, she looked at me and smiled.
Elderly, at fifty-five, where do they get off thinking that? And my ex-mother-in-law is still beautiful in her eightes.
Karma has found me now.