"Senior, ma'am?" the clerk asks.
A moment slips by. Then, confused, I reply, "Pardon?"
"Senior, ma'am?" she repeats slowly, with exaggerated politeness.
I gaze at her blankly. My bottle of arthritis-strength Tylenol and extra-large bottle of herbal menopause supplements that I so desperately need wait patiently on the check out counter.
I narrow my eyes to an irritated squint as the meaning of her question finally sinks in.
"No, THANK you" is my icy reply. I pay for my items, grab the bag, and exit the store in a fury.
"Unbelievable", I mumble to myself indignantly. "She thinks I'm-I'm--OLD!"