I was briskly walking down Fort Street Mall, guiding a rolling cart behind me. It contained a ream of paper, jars of olives and peppers, a bottle of wine, a loaf of French bread, and my personal items — more stuff than I’d want to carry in a shoulder bag.
I heard quick footsteps behind me and turned to see my young friend Earl bearing down on me. He scoffed and gestured dismissively at my rolling cart. “Oh, Pam. That’s SO senior! You’re acting like an old lady.”
“Would you prefer to see me sporting a shoulder sling? What’s wrong with making life easier?”
He never let me live it down. To this day, he says, “Where’s your rolling tote? OMG — that was SO senior!”
As if “senior” is bad.