They're just so cute. Not kittens, try grandmas. And grandpas too. There's something adorable about frail bones and canes. Gray hair and inch thick lenses. And at the peak of my youth I brazenly declare that I can't wait to be old. Just today I saw an old man at a crosswalk wearing a fisherman's hat and tan old man pants with the crease down the front. He was probably crossing the street to go to Walgreen's and pick up his liver pills, or whatever old people take. I was in my car and admiring his crooked, curved spine, slumping over his little pot belly. Being considerate of his weakened eardrum, I turned down the blaring Chemical Brothers beats exploding out of my car's open windows. I didn't want to be that little hellion that he griped about at his retirement home. And I wouldn't blame him. When I'm old in the year 2045, I wouldn't want to hear Tom Morello's son's band relentlessly bludgeoning my auditory nerves. "His dad's band was better anyway, little punk!" It's just part of the geriatric complex: When you hit 65, you only listen to Art Garfunkel, all of your pants are high-waters, and you just give up dyeing and let the hair turn gray, strand by strand. But you see, I've got it all planned out. I've already given my friends the right to plot my homicide if I start wearing stretchy pants, 3-D goggle sunglasses, and gaudy lapel pins with cats on them. And the shade of grey I'm going to aim for is a silvery white. I'm going to be cool and eccentric. Neighborhood children will gather from miles around to stop in for Pocky and Yoo Hoo (cookies and milk are soo cliche). And maybe I'll let the little whippersnappers rummage through my antique CD collection. It sounds kind of depressing, but I picture my days as a old lady sitting in a rocker on my porch all day, watching the sky change from the hazy cream of morning to the deep azure of dusk. I've always wanted to stare at a picturesque scene all day, and maybe paint it. But in the ratrace the young and middle aged find themselves running, there's just no time. Let the countdown to retirement begin. My life will begin at 50. Hopefully the whole Social Security problem will be fixed by then ...