“Donald Trump has signed on,” Meryl said, her eyes jumping up and down, accented by her carefully cultivated crow’s feet, “he’s agreed to have a public burning of his toupee collection.”
“Fabulous!” Salvadore said. He struggled out of his Lazy-Boy, grabbed his cane, and waddled over to Meryl. She sat at the kitchen table, a stack of volunteer sign-up sheets on her right, a bowl full of prunes on her left.
“Do you realize what this means,” Meryl said to Salvadore. Odd, how comfortable she felt with him. They’d only known each other three months, since they’d both signed up for Aging Is Beautiful. “It means we’ll have a real platform to proselytize. The message will get out.”
“I’m stunned that Donald Trump has signed on. Maybe he’s tired of all those bimbettes who keep dumping him. Perhaps it’s all the plastic surgery bills that have kept piling up. Maybe it’s all the itchy sweat that builds up under that skull of his.”
Meryl thought of the beautiful future that lay ahead for them all. The outlawing of plastic surgery, the end of becoming invisible at the age of fifty, the social struggle to achieve equality in the workplace for the elderly. And those Miss America pageants – even this year, the winner was a 58-year old grandmother from Piscataway, New Jersey.
Aging Is Beautiful was finally – finally, after all those years of Googlets, texting, below-the-hip jeans – finally making a positive impact.
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