There are some times more than others that I despise the aging process.
Like at the gym. I was given a 3-digit number with which to check in and to check out. On the first visit, I had no problem with my 3-digit number, it was written on a card. But the second and third times proved far more difficult. On my second visit (with my daughter and granddaughter watching) I entered the wrong number and a man's face appeared on the screen. I didn't have my glasses on so I didn't notice it. My daughter had to inform me I signed in as Billy Ficas.
I decided I could work with that.......
so I went in and did my workout, even enjoyed my workout, despite my anxiety that the gym police would toss me out seeing how my name and face weren't logged in the computer, Billy Ficas' was.
When I finished my workout, I simply clocked Billy Ficas out and left.
On my third visit, I repeated my 3-digit number in my head long enough to enter it correctly.
I had a challenging, wonderful workout -- anxiety free -- but when I clocked out, I typed in the wrong number and logged in another old man by mistake, leaving myself also logged in.
I glanced at the guy behind the desk and found he was watching me.
I smiled, "Oops, it seems I've typed in the wrong 3-digit number."
He encouraged me to just type my number again and he would log the old man out.
I tried again.
And logged in another man, a young gun.
I smiled again, "Oops."
He gave me the you're-an-old-gramma-smile and clocked me out.
I'm too young to act this old.