This week, I received an invitation from Donald Trump in the mail. I knew it was an invitation because it said so right there on the outside of the envelope. I was so excited! What was Donald inviting me to? A weekend at Mar a Lago? A cruise aboard his yacht? A celebrity wedding? A fancy dinner? A front-row seat at his trial? I immediately began to panic as I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear to any of these affairs. My hands shook as I opened the envelope. Was I going to have to decline a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, or should I go into debt to purchase a designer outfit?

Well, I needn’t have worried. I was invited to join the AMAC. I had to read on to find out just what the AMAC is, which turns out to stand for the Association of Mature American Citizens. Okay, I was both disappointed and relieved. Then insulted. How dare Donald call me a “Mature American Citizen?” Geesh, it’s bad enough when the cashier at Taco Bell doesn’t question my senior citizen status to get my discount by demanding I show proper ID. But Donald? Come on, the man’s never seen me. Do I look like a senior citizen? That is a rhetorical question that doesn’t require an answer.

Reading further, I discovered that Donald wanted my signature on a petition in return for AMAC membership. I read further and, without opening up a political can of worms that will generate hate emails for the rest of my life, AMAC sounded good on the surface. They even sent me a pre-addressed envelope that was going to go to waste if I didn’t use it. Notice I did not say pre-addressed stamped envelope. Wow, can’t Donald afford a lousy sixty-eight-cent stamp? I know postal rates have gone through the roof, but come on!

To make matters worse, I had to respond within three days to receive all the benefits of this membership. But at my senior citizen age, I can’t take these time-crunch pressures anymore. To add even more pressure, if I responded within three days, I would also be one of the first AMAC members ever (with the word ‘ever’ underlined) to receive a Limited-Edition TRUMP Membership Card. I wished they’d defined what that membership card entitled me to, like weekends at Mar a Lago or outings on Donald’s yacht. I’d even take discounts at Taco Bell. But, alas, the benefits of said membership card remained vague, as in I suppose having the card was reward enough in and of itself. But seriously, who would I show it to? If I’m not careful and show it to the wrong person, I could end up being trailed by hitmen as I go about my business in Dollar General. To my detriment, I missed the three-day deadline, although I was tempted to see if I could somehow still get in on the good deals if I delayed.

Then came the bottom line. They also wanted me to include of gift of $42.00. And, it would be even better if I stretched that gift to $59.95. I’m sorry, but has Donald been to the grocery store lately and seen the skyrocketing prices of food? Or gas? I don’t even have a dental plan. We Mature Americans on social security can only stretch the budget so far. Besides, Donald has a lot more money than I do! Does he really need my $42.00?

But the biggest disappointment of all came at the end of the letter. It wasn’t even from Donald, himself, but from his son, Donald Jr. Talk about a letdown. If it’s not important enough for Donald to personally invite me, I think I’ll just decline that invitation and keep my $42.00. After all, we’re getting low on toilet paper.