…..or half full, clearly there is room for more wine. Some people always have a PMA. Which has nothing to do with women being rightfully cranky once a month for way too many years. I still see the PMA poster hanging in my college dorm room when the world was still my oyster. Then I actually ate an oyster and realized it is a disgusting creature that people who can afford it should never eat, but cultivate a lustrous pearl. I probably have the science all wrong on this and was about to google it but realized I somehow got off track here. PMA. Or lack there of. Most Boomlennials have been in that roundabout long enough to know its not always easy to maneuver through. I’m not talking about that odd configuration that is supposed to be safer then stop signs but PSA- never pull out in front of an incoming pickup truck. Sh*t for brains. Anyyyyyyway. PMA. Once you hit that ‘senior ugh’ status it’s more important then ever. Nothing gets better with age. Wisdom, shmisdom. Sixty is not the new fifty blah blah. Totally fake news. I had decided that I never wanted the ‘senior ugh’ discount. Just wasn’t worth it to me to say that word to save a buck. Then an even worse thing transpires. They GIVE it to you without you asking. The first time this happened to me was at the Cleveland Clinic when I was buying a parking pass. Suffice it to say if you are buying a parking pass at a hospital it might not be your best glam moment. And I should have been grateful because it is not cheap to park there and you really don’t have a choice because that place is like the Vatican but in a less cool way. But that ‘senior ugh’ pass is still front and center in my ARE YOU FRICKEN KIDDING ME memory bank. Even those speeding ticket(s) I got barreling out of that empire didn’t make me as mad. I mean who can even see a camera high up on a pole? Obviously not ‘senior ugh’ me. So I tried again at the movie theater to just get an ‘adult smiley face’ ticket while in full makeup and they still gave me the ‘senior ugh’ discount. I concede. Will still whisper it but might as well embrace this creepy phenomenon. Everybody has to believe in something. I believe I’ll open a bottle of wine.