Bob Roberts is a new friend I have lunch with twice a month. Last Thursday, over cheeseburgers and fries, Bob said he hops out of bed with gusto each morning.
I stared at him. “You’re kidding, right? No man our age hops out of bed. We roll out and struggle to the bathroom.”
Bob Roberts did not back down. He said he hops up with a smile on his face, even before his cup of coffee.
The shadow of distrust came over me. Bob Roberts claimed to be 83, four years older than me. Yet, he had a full mop of gray hair. His nose and ears had not enlarged like mine. He had no limp in his gait. Perhaps he was faking being in his 80s just to get extra aging credit.
My cynical brain dug deeper. Even his name — who names their kid Robert Roberts?
And I’ve known him for less than a year. Maybe this new “friend” is a fake 60-something attempting to put one over on me.
To my elderly friends: beware of all those youngsters attempting to take credit for years they have yet to serve. After all, we are a pretty cool group. No wonder Bob Roberts wants to gain early membership.
A good man