ME: I see old people.
TIM: Are you in a house of mirrors?
ME: That just keeps getting funnier and funnier.
TIM: What's the drama du jour?
ME: I'm moving and my neighbors are so old!
TIM: What did you expect? Your community is a 55 and over neighborhood. It's "gated" for crying out loud. You're surrounded by lovely, mature people.
ME: I'm not lovely or mature.
TIM: Hey! Isn't it nice when we agree?
ME: I'm serious. How will this work? Some of these people are on oxygen and I still play air guitar. I'm having a confidence crisis.
TIM: What are your biggest concerns and for whom?
ME: Ugh. I know this trick. This is where you ask a question and I go deep under my psychological, subconscious blankets to shine a light and seek out the underlying causes of my anxiety, right?
TIM: If the metaphor fits.
ME: I don't blend.
TIM: Have you ever?
ME: I'm not retired.
TIM: Is that the law there?
ME: I don't garden or knit or dress my dogs in coats.
TIM: Deborah, did you actually see dogs dressed in anything?
TIM: Are you afraid of the day that you will blend?
TIM: It won't happen.
ME: How do you know that?
TIM: Seriously, Deborah? You're talking to an imaginary fashion guru in your head. By the time you blend, you'll be the happiest person on the planet.
TIM: Oh yes. Just promise me that you'll dress accordingly.
ME: What will that look like.
TIM: I can't tell you what it WILL look like, but I can tell what it WON'T look like. No muu muus and no perms, other than that, we'll deal with it as it pops up.
ME: Cool. Bring it, geezers.