Day 5: Thoughts on growing old

Growing old is a touchy subject for most people, but not for my friends and I.  We talk about it quite often actually. 

I want to grow old with a couple of stipulations:

I want my best friend there.  I need to grow old with someone who's seen me at my prime and seen my slide slowly and gracefully through all of life's stages.  I want to enter into that "old" stage with dignity and a cocktail.  No, I'm not kidding.  Mike, get ready for the long haul. 

I want to be surrounded by clubs and activities for all of my friends and I.  I want day trips to museums.  I want us to wear purple, red, or outlandishly styled hats.  I want to buy kimonos and flowy dresses with my girlfriends.  We'll be the most stylish white haired ladies you'll ever see. 

I want to eat what I want when I want.  I'll spend the first 75% of my life going on and off of diets, but believe me when I say this: when I'm old I will not count calories.  If I want a cream puff for breakfast I will eat it.  Why?  Because I don't know how many more breakfasts I'll get on this planet and I'm not convinced there are cream puffs in heaven. 

And when my number's called, and everybody better take note of this one, I want a party.  Burn my body.  Put it in a shoebox or some vintage urn.  I really don't give a damn.  I won't be there to pick it out.  But what I do want is a party.  Invite everyone.  Bring pictures of you and I.  Tell my stories.  I want to go out with a big fat bang.  Make sure the party is loud so that when I get to the pearly gates, Peter says something like "Gee, those friends of yours sure know how to party.  I can't wait until they're up here!" 

I'm not afraid of growing old, it's the thought of not growing old that scares me.