Theresa Lewis

Getting old is both fun and funny. All my life, I’ve looked forward to my next birthday. The older I get, the more I enjoy my life. Of course, there are the aches and pains that go along with aging, but in spite of that aspect of the aging process, I have to say that I love my life.

 

For the most part, I’ve been blessed with wonderful friends who have enriched my life on so many levels. Some of them have come and gone while others are still with me. Every one of them has impacted my life in their own unique way and I treasure all of them. My fondest desire is to hope that in some way I may have made a positive impact on their lives as well.

 

A few years ago, I was fortunate enough to move into a ‘Senior’s Residence’. I went from living in a basement apartment that was infested with mold, bugs and rodents to living on the second level of this building that has an elevator. What a blessing! There are no bugs to speak of, no mold, no fears of flooding and no stairs to do unless I want to… and I don’t. My creaky old bones much prefer to walk slowly these days and to take the elevator whenever I want to go out.

 

Okay, so I’ve been off on a bit of a tangent so far, but it was kind of necessary, I think, in order to give you a bit of a background for the rest of the story.

 

The Senior’s Dance that I referred to in the heading, is not what you’re thinking, I’m sure. I’m not talking about a room full of grey haired old folks doing the twist with or without partners. What I’m referring to here is something quite different. It’s the dance I do with as few witnesses as possible. I also make up my own steps to suit the occasion.

 

When I’m waiting for the elevator door to open, I tend to stand too close to the door so that I can hop in the elevator as soon as the door opens. I don’t know why it never seems to occur to me that perhaps there is someone else who may be riding the elevator at the same time that I want to ride it. Many times when the door opens, I almost jump out of my own skin to avoid colliding into some other rider’s face. Arms and legs flap stupidly as I do the panic dance. There is nothing graceful about my moves but I can do some pretty aggressive moves for a stodgy old girl. Sometimes, I really impress myself.

 

Lately, I have taken to sleeping in my recliner at night just because it’s more comfortable than my bed. Because I am afraid of the darkness, I always sleep with all my lights on.

 

Recently, as I shut my eyes to go off to sleep, I thought I felt a light tickle go across my bare chest. It alarmed me. My eyes popped open when I felt movement for the second time. I whacked my chest so hard that I knocked the wind out of myself. I had no doubt that I was being assaulted by an earwig taking a stroll across my bare chest.

 

In a moment of sheer panic, I grabbed at the front of my nightgown and squeezed as hard as I could in order to murder the cheeky marauder. I flew off the chair, ripped off my nightgown as I wildly danced around in utter disgust and panic. I believe I created new moves to my naked panic dance. With arms and legs flying in all directions, I shook my nightgown out as hard as I could, as I beat it on the floor and against the coffee table, but I couldn’t find the damn earwig. I searched for that little sucker for hours, but I never found it that night. It’s strange how one moment I was sleepy and the next moment I was charged with a super human energy that made me so wide awake that I couldn’t sleep until the next morning around eight o’clock.

 

As I said earlier, all my lights were on. What I failed to mention was that I only have sheer curtains on my bay window. If someone in the neighboring apartment building happened to be looking out their window as I put on my spectacular performance they’re going to need therapy. I’m pretty sure I destroyed their mind. In my naked panic, it took me a good few moments to remember that my lights were on and that I only had sheer curtains on my window. Once I realized what I had just done, I was horrified, but all I could do was laugh.

 

 

A few days later, I found the dead earwig in the cigarette butt out device that I have in my ash tray.

 

THE END