When I'm a little old lady

To repay all I've had from each girl and boy,
I'll live with my children and bring them great joy.

I shall draw on the walls and scuff up the floor;
run in and out without closing the door.

I'll pester my children when they are on the phone.
As long as they're busy I won't leave them alone.

I'll run and I'll romp, always fritter away
the time to be spent doing chores every day.

I'll rush off to the movies and not wash a dish. I'll plead for allowance whenever I wish.

I'll Hide candy in closets, rocks in a drawer,
and never pick up what I drop on the floor.

I'll spill glasses of milk to complete every meal,
I'll eat my banana and just drop the peel.

Put toys on the table, spill jam on the floor.
I'll break lots of dishes as though I were four.

I'll stuff up the plumbing and deluge the floor.
As soon as they've mopped it, I'll flood it some more.

I'll take all their pencils and flashlights, and then,
when they buy new ones, I'll take them again.

I'll hide frogs in the pantry, socks under my bed.
And whenever they scold me, I'll hang my head.

When they correct me, I'll lie down and cry,
kicking and screaming, not a tear in my eye.

What fun I shall have, what joy it will be
to Live with my children just like they lived with me!

---

My nookie days are over;
My pilot light is out.
What used to be my sex appeal;
Is now my water spout.

Time was when of its own accord;
From my trousers it would spring.
But now I have a full time job;
To find the blasted thing.

It used to be embarrassing;
The way it would behave.
For every single morning;
It would stand and watch me shave.

As old age approaches;
It sure gives me the blues.
To see it hang its withered head;
And watch me tie my shoes.

Thought I'd let my doctor check me,
'Cause I didn't feel quite right. . .
All those aches and pains annoyed me
And I couldn't sleep at night.

He could find no real disorder
But he wouldn't let it rest.
What with Medicare and Blue Cross,
We would do a couple tests.

To the hospital he sent me
Though I didn't feel that bad.
He arranged for them to give me
Every test that could be had.

I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped,
My aging frame displayed.
Stripped, on an ice cold table,
While my gizzards were x-rayed.

I was checked for worms and parasites,
For fungus and the crud,
While they pierced me with long needles
Taking samples of my blood.

Doctors came to check me over,
Probed and pushed and poked around,
And to make sure I was living
They then wired me for sound.

They have finally concluded,
Their results have filled a page.
What I have will someday kill me;
My affliction is OLD AGE.

---

In the dim and distant past
When life's tempo wasn't so fast,
Grandma used to rock and knit,
Crochet, tat and baby sit. When the kids were in a jam,
They could always call on Gram.
But today she's in the gym
Exercising to keep slim. She's checking the web or surfing the net,
Sending some e-mail or placing a bet.
Nothing seems to stop or block her,
Now that Grandma's off her rocker.

---

I'M NOT OLD...JUST MATURE

Today at the drugstore, the clerk was a gent.
From my purchase this chap took off ten percent.
I asked for the cause of a lesser amount;
And he answered, "Because of the Seniors Discount."

" I went to McDonald's for a burger and fries;
And there, once again, got quite a surprise.
The clerk poured some coffee which he handed to me.
He said, "For you, Seniors, the coffee is free."

Understand---I'm not old---I'm merely mature;
But some things are changing, temporarily, I'm sure.
The newspaper print gets smaller each day,
And people speak softer---can't hear what they say.

My teeth are my own (I have the receipt),
and my glasses identify people I meet.
Oh, I've slowed down a bit...not a lot, I am sure.
You see, I'm not old...I'm only mature.

The gold in my hair has been bleached by the sun.
You should see all the damage that chlorine has done.
Washing my hair has turned it all white,
But don't call it gray...saying "blonde" is just right.

My car is all paid for...not a penny is owed.
Yet a kid yells, "Old fool...get off of the road!"
My car has no scratches...not even a dent.
Still I get all that guff from a punk who's "Hell bent."

My friends all get older...much faster than me.
They seem much more wrinkled, from what I can see.
I've got "character lines," not wrinkles...for sure,
But don't call me old...just call me mature.

The steps in the houses they're building today
Are so high that they take...your breath all away;
And the streets are much steeper than ten years ago.
That should explain why my walking is slow.

But I'm keeping up on what's hip and what's new,
And I think I can still dance a mean boogaloo.
I'm still in the running...in this I'm secure,
I'm not really old ... I'm only mature.

---

The wonderful Wizard of Oz
Retired from business because
What with up to date science
To most of his clients
He wasn't the wiz that he was.

---

I chanced to pass a window
While walking through a mall
With nothing much upon my mind,
Quite blank as I recall.

I noticed in that window
A cranky-faced old man,
And why he looked so cranky
I didn't understand.

Just why he looked at ME that way
Was more than I could see
Until I came to realize
That cranky man was ME!

---

How do I know that my youth is all spent?
my get up and go has got up and went.
But in spite of it all I'm able to grin
and think of the places my get up has been.

Old age is golden-so I've heard it said-
but sometimes I wonder when I get into bed,
with my ears in a drawer and my teeth in a cup,
my eyes on the table until I wake up.

Ere sleep dims my eyes I say to myself,
"Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?"
And I'm happy to say as I close my door,
my friends are the same, perhaps even more.

When I was young, my slippers were red,
I could pick up my heels right over my head.
When I grew older, my slippers were blue,
but still I could dance the whole night through.

But now I am old, my slippers are black,
I walk to the store and puff my way back.
The reason I know my youth is all spent,
my get up and go has got up and went.

But I really don't mind when I think, with a grin,
of all the grand places my get up has been.
Since I have retired from life's competition,
I accommodate myself with complete repetition.
I get up each morning, and dust off my wits,
pick up my paper and read the "obits".
If my name is missing, I know I'm not dead,
so I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.

---

The Golden Years have come at last,
I cannot see; I cannot pee;
I cannot chew, I cannot screw.
My memory shrinks, my hearing stinks;
No sense of smell: I look like hell!
My body is drooping; got trouble pooping.
The Golden Years have come at last.
But the Golden Years have turned to BRASS
. If you ask me -
The GOLDEN YEARS...
Can kiss my ASS! RETIREMENT

---

Just a line to say that I am living,
that I'm not among the dead;
though I'm getting more forgetful
and mixed up in my head.

I got wed to my arthritis
to my dentures I'm resigned;
I can manage with my bifocals
but, God, I miss my mind!

For sometimes I can't remember
when I stand at the foot of the stairs;
If I must go up for something
or have I just come down from there?

And before the fridge so often
my poor mind is filled with doubt;
Have I just put food away, or
have I just come to take some out?

And there is time when it is dark
with my nightcap on my head;
I don't know if I'm retiring
or just getting out of bed.

So, if it's my turn to write you,
there is no need for getting sore;
I may think that I have written
and don't want to be a bore.

So, remember that I love you
and wish that you were near;
but now it's nearly mail time,
must say goodbye, my dear.

Here I stand beside the mailbox
with a face so very red;
instead of mailing your letter
I have opened it instead!

---

We're over the hill but don't feel sad
This side of the hill ain't all that bad.
So give us "five" and then a smile
To us who have been here for awhile.

With by-pass pain and mended hip
And plumbing fixtures prone to drip;
We all may seem a sorry lot,
But we rejoice for what we've got.

We have each day and what it brings
And on our pensions live like kings.
For the press that accuses what we take
To coin a phrase, "Let them eat cake."

We've paid our share for unused knowledge
As the kids are now all done with college.
We complain to them about our health
As they worry about our dwindling wealth.

And though our wardrobes may be plain
We'll suffer no more labor or pain.
Now it's with cane we do our strut
And if we can't drive - we still can putt.

We're mean and tough, meet all demands,
Why, M&M's melt in our hands.
Yes, we're still here, and it does deli
ght us That you join our fight against arthritis.

But we ask you make a pledge today
That you'll be careful what you say.
We have to spread "Over the Hill" fear
Or we'll have those young folks over here.

---

In the dim and distant past
When life's tempo wasn't so fast,
Grandma used to rock and knit,
Crochet, tat and baby sit.

When the kids were in a jam,
They could always call on Gram.
But today she's in the gym
Exercising to keep slim.

She's checking the web or surfing the net,
Sending some e-mail or placing a bet.
Nothing seems to stop or block her,
Now that Grandma's off her rocker.

---

A story I'll tell of a burglar bold
Who started to rob a house;
He opened the window, and then crept in
As quiet as a mouse.

He looked around for a place to hide,
'Till the folks were all asleep,
Then said he, "With their money
I'll take a quiet sneak."

So under the bed the burglar crept;
He crept up close to the wall;
He didn't know it was an old maid's room
Or he wouldn't have had the gall.

He thought of the money that he would steal,
As under the bed he lay;
But at nine o'clock he saw a sight
That made his hair turn gray.

At nine o'clock the old maid came in;
"I am so tired," she said;
She thought that all was well that night
So she didn't look under the bed.

She took out her teeth and her big glass eye,
And the hair from off her head;
The burglar, he had forty fits
As he watched from under the bed.

From under the bed the burglar crept,
He was a total wreck;
The old maid wasn't asleep at all
And she grabbed him by the neck.

She didn't holler, or shout or call,
She was as cool as a clam;
She only said, "The Saints be praised,
At last I've got a man!"

From under the pillow a gun she drew,
And to the burglar she said,
"Young man, if you don't marry me,
I'll blow off the top of your head!"

She held him firmly by the neck,
He hadn't a chance to scoot;
He looked at the teeth and the big glass eye,
And said, "Madam, for Pete's sake, shoot!"

---

There's quite an art to falling apart as the years go by,
And life doesn't begin at 40. That's a big fat lie.
My hair's getting thinner, my body is not;
The few teeth I have are beginning to rot.

I smell of Vick's-Vapo-Rub, not Chanel # 5;
My new pacemaker's all that keeps me alive.
When asked of my past, every detail I'll know,
But what was I doing 10 minutes ago?

Well, you get the idea, what more can I say?
I'm off to read the obituary, like I do every day;
If my names not there, I'll once again start -
Perfecting the art of falling apart

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