It was inevitable, but still I wasn’t prepared. Yesterday, I was automatically given the senior price at the movie theater. I kept the ticket and every so often I look at it to be sure it really happened. Yep. Says right there: Senior. $6.75. The $6.75 part is good. But senior?

Now, I am under no illusions as to my age, but I don’t feel senior. I have no desire to mend fences, lift bales of hay, or do yard work in the blazing sun for hours on end, but it isn’t because I can’t. I just don’t want to anymore. Is that a sign of age?

In light of this, I have begun to re-examine some recent decisions and question my motivation. For instance, I gave up riding horses last year. I thought it was because I had so many other things I wanted to do and had no time. But looking at it from the senior perspective, I can see there could have been a deeper, darker reasoning. Until recently, when I thought about horses, I imagined the smell of hay, leather, and warm horse flesh. I could feel the wind in my hair and would vividly recall the amazing freedom of galloping across a field or ambling down a wooded trail. Now, I can imagine the smell of antiseptic in the emergency room and wonder just how a broken hip would feel.

And while I am examining this truthfully, I have been disconcertingly drawn to the amenities of a local retirement community. Think about it. If you aren’t in the mood to cook – for days on end— there is a dining room. It doesn’t have to come down to cook or eat bologna sandwiches. You have a postage stamp lawn, but you don’t have to mow it. Right there on the premises is a library, a swimming pool, an exercise room, a sauna, and a hot tub. All with no monthly health club dues. You wouldn’t even have to have a car if you didn’t want it, as there is transportation to everything. They even have social outings, groups, and gatherings. You can be a vintage social butterfly or a curmudgeonly hermit, as you choose. And get this: Somebody shows up every other week to clean your house. You can’t beat that with a toilet brush.

The subject just happened to come up with a friend last week. She said we should move in right now. Not only would it be a little bit like our own personal Downton Abbey, the kicker is that we would be the youngest residents there. The youngsters. I can feel my ego expanding already. We’d be junior seniors. I like it.

I think I might really look into it. Just as soon as I run by McDonald’s for a cup of coffee — senior price, please.