Contemplating Yoga

Margie: They’re starting a yoga class in my building, and I’m conflicted about it. I suppose I should try to see more people, do a little something. But I know I’m the oldest person in the building, and I don’t want the attention. 

Me: What do you mean?

Margie: They’ll fuss. They want me to do the whole class in a chair; they’re afraid I’ll fall over. They talk to me like I’m a 3-year-old. They shout because they think I’m deaf, never mind my hearing aids. They talk very slowly, like I’m just learning the language. It’s so patronizing. I pretend to be humble, but I’m not.

Me: (Laughing) What would you like to do?

Margie: I'd like to tell them, (Shouting) ‘Fuck off with your babytalk!’ (Passerby on sidewalk flinches in shock, causing Margie to laugh.) But I never do. It’s some twisted idea they have about being respectful to little old ladies. You can’t get through to them. That’s one of the worst things about being 96. Everybody talks to you like you have an IQ of 15, and when you can’t remember anything for five minutes, that just reinforces their assumptions. Besides, yoga might make me live longer. Not interested, thanks. Done that already.