Despite the fact that my joints are more accurate in predicting the weather than the nation’s leading meteorologists, there are advantages to being over sixty. For one thing, I don’t care about a lot of things I used to, like what I wear in public. When you’re old, you can pretty much get away with wearing anything. As it is, nobody pays much attention to us old people. Besides, all of my clothes are so old, they are back in style. I don’t bother with makeup anymore. At my age, who cares? I can also get away with pretending I didn’t hear something, particularly if someone is dissing my outfit.

I don’t have to worry about climbing the corporate ladder and falling off. At my age, I shouldn’t be on ladders anyway. Besides, I like it better on the ground. No longer do I wish I was a “mover and shaker” in my community with my picture plastered on the front page of the newspaper every other week. I might still be able to move, but shaking is another story. Plus, I don’t want my picture in the newspaper anymore. People might accidentally mistake it for my obituary.

I don’t have to read People magazine anymore and feel out of touch because I don’t know any of the people in People. I can just chalk it up to “Who cares about those people and how does their life affect me?” I don’t need to watch all the award shows on television because I don’t know any of the actors or singers anyway. I can get early bird specials and eat dinner in plenty of time to get home and watch Wheel of Fortune. If I want to nap in the middle of the day, I give myself permission. I can repeat the same stories or jokes that I’ve told a hundred times, and people indulge me. If they roll their eyes, I can’t see them without my glasses.

I can “let myself go” because I’ve been married for over thirty years. At this point, Hubby is stuck with me “for better or for worse,” even if he’s wondering when the “better” will kick in. I don’t need to impress him anymore to keep him around. He’s seen me at my worst and hasn’t run yet. (Of course, the converse is also true.) I don’t have to worry about diet and exercise because, at this point, I’ve managed to live this long by not doing either. If I want to eat a banana split for dinner, by golly, I’ve earned the right after all these years. Plus, I can blame almost anything I don’t want to do on my doctor’s orders.

I can attribute my forgetfulness to “senior moments,” and most people are understanding. I don’t have to worry when I tell secrets to friends my age that they will repeat them. They can’t remember them either. Younger people generously help me with technology, as they realize it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks. (For all you octogenarians who are proficient in everything technology, I just want to say you’re ruining it for the rest of us geezers. Please stop.)