From the first time I heard the words “early retirement,” I haven’t been able to get them out of my head. Anyone that says, “Love what you do and you’ll never work a day in your life” has never aimlessly driven around in a golf cart giving the two finger wave to his buddies en route to play nine holes before having a dry chicken salad sandwich at 11 a.m. lunch.
It’s no secret that I can’t wait to be old. I’m at the point in my life where I’m pretty much ready to give up on even attempting to be youthful. Staying out past midnight? Can’t do it. Working out? Nah, I’m not training for anything.
I wanna be collecting shells, placing $2-per-hole bets on the course, and screaming at the television while Live! With Kelly And Michael is playing (or whoever they choose to succeed them in 2055). But that’s just the tip of the iceberg because I yearn for the day when my kids tell me, “Will, we’re sending you to a retirement community.” While I assume many elderly people consider this to be their last stop in life, I see this as being a whole new beginning.
Now, I’m no retirement community aficionado so it’s entirely possible I’m overstating the actual amenities. I’m under the assumption that I’m going to somehow get loaded by falling ass backwards into a pile of money at some point, so my kids won’t have to spare any expenses when they ship me off to get me out of their hair.
But right now, I’m having dreams of pools filled with 70-year-old women doing water aerobics, patio furniture littered with my homies playing rummy, and a driving range where the balls flow like the salmon of the Capistrano. My community might as well be called, “All-Inclusive Resort” for all I’m concerned. And while I don’t think there’ll be an open bar or self-serve guacamole and chips stations, my door will always be open for anyone looking.
Yeah, the coordinator of this community will have to schedule some events to keep the morale up (and because I’ll complain until someone puts some on the calendar). But as someone who has consistently hated Halloween since his mother dressed him up as a Ninja Turtle with a Slinky instead of nunchucks, I don’t exactly see myself showing up at any of these shindigs wearing much more than a Tommy Bahama shortsleeve buttondown and a topical hat.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t be cutting a rug during The Roaring 2020’s Party or trying to drink some upside down margaritas every Taco Tuesday. I might even ask for a wheelchair prematurely so I don’t have to be responsible for getting myself home (or at least so I don’t have to stand up after Ethel Nae Nae’ing at the Gatsby party).
Speaking of Ethel, I’m have a theory that these communities are an absolute freakfest. Remember when Tinder came out around the same time as the 2012 Olympics and it caused the London Olympic village to turn into one big orgy? Imagine what will be going on in forty years at these communities filled with dudes like me who are twice-divorced from a second wife who probably hasn’t even been born yet.
Between the medicine and surgeries that will emerge, the effects of aging will be at an absolute minimum. And while, sure, I’ll probably still look like hell because I’ll be pocketing all of my medications in order to stay sharp, a buncha these broads are going to be hard sevens until the devil comes knocking at their door. I don’t even want to know what kind of technology will be around for me to use in order to court these ladies, though.
I already dress like I’m retired, so actually being appropriately dressed and surrounded by likeminded people sounds awesome. We already know I’ll be crushing my Tommy Bahama shirts on theme nights, but my casual wear is going to be scarily on point. Sweatshorts? I’ll have them in every color with inseams that’ll make all the ladies uncomfortable. Technical golf shirts that I’ve been wearing since 2014? Of course, because they won’t make them like they used to. Bucket hats? Does a bear shit in the woods, guys? Couldn’t pay me to have a sunburned neck considering the amount of golf I’ll be playing.
Parlay all that with some shin-high tube socks, some fresh Nikes, and a Rolex to boot? Game over. I’ll steal all your girls.
My squad is going to have a fleet of wheelchairs and golf carts that’ll intimidate the whole lot of our rival clique. When I was 14, I drove a Mercedes Benz golf cart and all of the sudden, nothing was the same. I saw what the promise land felt like and I didn’t want to look back. I’m going to be low-five’ing my buddies as we roll past one another while each playing Cheeseburger In Paradise on min volume.
Now about those upside down margaritas. Can someone hold my bucket hat? .
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