Getting Old Is Criminal by Rita Lakin

from sixty-ish to ninety-ish, who line up against the wall. They have clearly dressed up for the occasion.
    The men of similar age hover in a cluster across the room, pretending not to scope out the action, except for the gregarious few who mingle among us to get a much closer view. Could the mingling be because these men have thick glasses and hearing aids?
    The girls and I stand in line to pay our admis-sion at the door. When it’s my turn, Evvie pipes up that I’m just a looky loo, since I already have a boyfriend. And therefore maybe I only need to pay half price.

    1 1 4 • R i t a L a k i n
    Yeah, Evvie, and how come you haven’t noticed that said boyfriend is never around these days?
    “Full price to all,” says the tough ticket taker with frizzy orange hair. “This is a fund-raiser, honey, not a nonprofit, so cough it up.”
    My girls put on their name and number tags and stay close to one another. Ida is ready to bolt, but Sophie reins her in tight. Bella is all giggles. Evvie, wearing one of her new outfits, is attentive. There is an air of anticipation as the women size up the men and vice versa.
    “What a bunch of alter kockers, ” Ida decides.
    “And you old broads ain’t that great, either,”
    says a burly, fat-gut guy standing behind her.
    Bella laughs. “Ignore him.” She puts her arm around Ida.
    Ida groans. “This is a waste of time, coming here.”
    Evvie, raring to have a good time, says, “I like to think of it as practice. When we get to Wilmington House, Gladdy and I will need all the flirting experience we can get.”
    I look at her doubtfully. “Flirting?”
    She gives me one of her pretend innocent looks.
    “Why, we might have to—to get information out of Romeo. You know, like Juliet?”
    A pretty young woman wearing a pink, fluffy cocktail dress and a lot of makeup walks to the podium and taps a pencil on the wood for quiet.
    All eyes are on her. The men on the women’s side scurry back across the room. Brimming over with G e t t i n g O l d I s C r i m i n a l • 1 1 5
    enthusiasm, she calls out, “Hello, my name is Cindi, and welcome to Senior Match Dance!” She waits for the applause. “How many of you have been here before?”
    A smattering of hands go up.
    “The rejects,” whispers Ida, making sure fat-gut is no longer standing nearby.
    “How many here for the first time?” A much larger group now.
    “Helloooo, suckers.” Ida again.
    Sophie smacks Ida on the back with her purse.
    “Shut up already; let’s have some positive thinking. We’re here for Evvie. She might meet the man of her dreams tonight.”
    “More like her nightmare.” Ida ducks before Sophie can hit her again.
    Cindi is revving up to play cheerleader. “Are you too old to date?”
    A chorus of yes ses shout up at her. Not the right answer. That stops her for a moment. “Of course not. You’re never too old.”
    “A lot you know,” shouts an eighty-five-year-old up front.
    “How many of you are sick of staying home nights?”
    No one responds. Is she kidding? Who goes out at night? Nobody.
    Cindi will not be discouraged. “Tired of blind dates?”
    A white cane is seen waving from the back.

    1 1 6 • R i t a L a k i n
    Followed by a reedy voice. “What’s wrong with blind dates? Try me; I’m a bundle of laughs.”
    “I’ll try you, honey,” shouts a homely woman to the left, “if you promise not to ask anybody what I look like.”
    More laughs at that.
    Cindi is losing a bit of her rah-rah, but is game to go on. “Tired of waiting for the phone to ring?”
    A voice down center shouts, “It hasn’t rung in forty years. Think I should give up?”
    Lots of agreement there.
    Cindi keeps bulldozing. “Aren’t you sick of wasting time going from one bad date to another, going through long boring dinners that will lead to nothing but frustration?”
    I hear a voice near us call out, “Dinner? Who gets that lucky? Lucky is lunch, where you get a greasy hamburger on a stale roll, in