I'll be Ripe with a Pipe.

So I walked by a group of old people boarding a bus. The old men smiling, one of them tells me it's a great day. Another wants to pet my dog, Nola, and ask me detailed questions about her life. She did just have surgery and has to wear a shirt and e-collar. About another five old men stand in a half circle listening and staring at me grinning with their arms folded. I explain that she had a fractured shoulder and a cancerous growth removed. One old man tells me he has had those same surgeries, and he healed well and so will Nola. He proceeded to show me how mobile his arm still is by making small rotations in the air. Nola gave him kisses. But not one old woman said anything, some scowled in our direction, but would avoid all eye contact. I tried to smile at them. The men were so jovial, and snazzy in their loafers and funky thick glasses. The women were all shriveled up, they all had that same white cotton swab hair do. Every last one of them had on a cardigan even though it's a hundred degrees out. You either age or you ripen. When I am old I will never cut my hair like that. I will wear sundresses, and smile at everyone. I will pet dogs and ask people questions. I want to be like an old man. I will be chipper and stylish in my most favorite hats and scarves with dark painted fingernails, smoking from an old pipe.