Retirement. It’s a thing we don’t like to think about. You’re old. Your tits have made a relatively new acquaintance with your knees. The only thing you have to look forward to is death. But it doesn’t have to be that bad. Don’t dread old age! Ever see an old person WHO JUST DOESN’T GIVE A TRUC? (to use the French). We all have and we all envy that elderly hero’s attitude and wish we could steal it for ourselves.
Well, I fully intend to be a bitchin’ old lady who couldn’t care less. I wanna wear skin tight leggings (the kind that the word ‘comfort’ doesn’t even begin to describe) to yell at strangers in the street and to dance whenever the need takes me.
Where will I retire to, though? That is the big question. Here are my top three retirement locations. Fingers crossed one of these comes through.
Buried underneath a mound of cats
Who loves cats? I love cats. My husband is older than me, so he’ll probably die first. If not he’ll probably go a bit mad. This is all sad but it will be made better by the presence of thirty odd cats. I never understood why “crazy cat lady” was said to be a bad thing. Looks like a pretty amazing thing from where I’m sitting. Cats are fun, they’re calming, they are hilarious and they are the source of some of the best conversations I’ve ever had in my life. You got something serious you need to say but have no idea how to get it out? Say it to cat. Life will be good from then on in.
In an underground lair where I am the evil controller of all mankind
Look, sometimes things don’t work out exactly as planned. Sometimes you’re not the hero, you’re the evil villain. Well, even if I’m the bad guy I want things to be cushy. I’ll put it to you now, I’ll be the best evil dictator you’ll ever know. I won’t bomb your grandchildren for a start. I’ll just ensure your tits get extra itchy occasionally so you jump around in a hilarious manner and we can all watch on CCTV. Or LairCam, as it’s known colloquially. A tad embarrassing, sure. But no one gets hurt.
Phantom of the Chocolate Factory
So, the guy with the facial disfigurement who loved music and singing became the Phantom of the Opera. Well, when I’m old and generally not good for much I’d like to be the Phantom of the Chocolate Factory. I’d skulk around after hours and taste all the new concoctions. Then I’d use my phantom influence to decide the new season’s flavours. Sod off, white chocolate. Salted caramel, you’re in.