“Look at this lunch,” groused Herman. “I can’t believe how much this place is starting to skimp on the food. And they call these ‘the golden years,’ yeah, right.”
“Oh Herman, quit your bitching and moaning,” Gladys, another resident in the retirement home, implored. “I’m sick and tired of hearing your constant complaints.”
“Overall, I think the food they serve us is pretty decent,” Charles chimed in.
Herman rolled his eyes. “Charles, you couldn’t distinguish between shit and Shinola if your life depended on it, so who are you to judge the quality of this crap they’re serving us? And, Gladys, what kind of ivory tower are you living in?”
“Well, all I’m saying is that whoever came up with ‘the golden years’ as a euphemism for being old was definitely not old,” Herman said.
“If you consider the alternative to getting old,” Charles said, “being old, alive, and breathing is definitely golden. Now quit your grousing and finish your lunch. Bingo starts at one o’clock sharp.”
Written for the Tale Weaver prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie, where the challenge is to write a tale about old age. Also for these daily prompts: Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (skimp), Ragtag Daily Prompt (distinguish), The Daily Spur (tower), Word of the Day Challenge (escape), and Your Daily Word Prompt (disposition).