So I was telling my lovely mother about the old people in Arizona and how they would do the oddest things like sit with their complimentary oatmeal and decaf coffee from 7am to 10am and didn’t they know they didn’t need to stay for the entire hotel breakfast? and they would hang out by the pool, in the shade with their white socks pulled high on their skinny varicose-vein-ridden legs, and one old man stripped right in front of us, pool-side, to change from his golf shorts to his swim trunks even though his room was probably courtyard-adjacent and was completely nakes in plain view and CHILDREN were present not to mention ME [and seriously, gross, I barely like to look at it now when it’s not, you know, ready to go, unless the guy is ok with me poking it like a science project and they tend to frown upon that even though I am pretty sure they have the same fascination with boobs which do not look nearly as goofy and yes, I am still seventeen at times] but nevertheless I don’t really want to see it all wrinkly and weathered and saggy and I better have some serious dementia or senility going on by the time I have to see it looking like that again. And in response to my frightful experience, my mom said, “Oh, Mol, you’re going to have to get over it because it gets that way much sooner than you would think.”  And not only hearing that information but hearing it from my mom, given her frame of reference, is wrong on so many levels and I just wish I could get this story out of my head.