Still a “Crusty Curmudgeon”

Anyone who follows this here blog knows yrs trly just attained the ripe old age of 70, February 5th, 2014.
That means I have attained “old fartdom,” as defined pertaining to men my age.
Namely, 60-to-69 is “crusty curmudgeon,” 70-to-79 is “old fart,” and anything beyond 80 is “geezer.”
But there’s just one problem. As I see it, I don’t feel or act like an “old fart.” I still act like a crusty curmudgeon.
Yesterday (Monday, February 17th, 2014) I had to visit my dentist, my dental hygienist for a teeth-cleaning.
Fortunately I managed to not upset anyone, but I felt like I might.
“How are you?” my hygienist bubbled.
“Well, sore from staggering my dog through 18-inch deep snow,” I said.
Comments like that don’t register with someone in their late 20s or early 30s. The mere act of walking doesn’t cause aches and pains.
I let it go. No sense upsetting someone with things they can’t comprehend.
Most of the people I meet are younger than me, so they don’t understand where I’m at.
They think since I appear all right, I’m just like them.
But I’m not.
The game is to not let this upset anyone, that is, not be a crusty curmudgeon.
After the dentist I drove to a nearby natural-food store to order cereal.
I no longer can get it through Amazon, so back to the natural-food store.
“Actually,” I said; “I can still get from Amazon, but they want an arm-and-a-leg. So you guys win!”
Still a crusty curmudgeon; diplomacy and tact are for old farts.
Order complete, I checked out what little I had, two candybars.
“Miss anything?” the young clerk asked.
“Well, if you have it,” I said;” I could use a case of Glendale Farms Organic Grape-Juice.”
“We no longer carry it,” the girl said. “But we do have various other grape-juices.”
I cut her off! “No thanks; I’ll just buy it at the supermarket,” I snapped.
Diplomacy and tact are for old farts.