Aging gracefully

So it turns out I'm incredibly mature for my age. I didn't realize it was unusual to go to bed at 10 p.m., or enjoy a sprinkling of flax seed on my mini wheats, or to wallow in regret about not knowing more bird calls, but now I see that my behaviour is that of a woman thrice my age. An "old person", if you will. The elderly are valuable members of society with both wisdom and scotch mints to share with us, but I didn't realize elder-ness would be thrust upon me at this point in my life. I thought I  had at least until my 25th birthday before senility set in. 

I was ready to accept my fate as the world's youngest senior citizen with dignity and unflattering pants, but I nearly spit out my reheated decaf (joke!) coffee all over my custom orthotics (not a joke!) when I realized that my case of advanced-onset lameness might not be pure coincidence: I could very well be involved in some sort of Freaky Friday scenario, and there may still a chance to reclaim my youthful soul (joke! Souls aren't a real thing! Spoiler!). Maybe this suspicion was only aroused because Freaky Friday -- the controversial 2003 film that launched Jaime Lee Curtis' career -- was on TV last week, but maybe, JUST MAYBE, it makes scientific sense that a seventy year old woman (or man! Freaky-fridaying is a gender-neutral phenomena!) and I have actually magically switched bodies, perhaps so that we could both learn a valuable lesson about ourselves/each other/the power of friendship.

As the world's foremost Todd Strasser scholar, I wouldn't dare speak of body switchery lightly. As Mr. Strausser's complex characters in each of his seventeen "Help! I'm Trapped" novels -- nay, literary masterpieces -- well know, it is a highly stressful, life-altering experience, and not all fun and games like the internet would have you believe. Whether the protagonist was entombed in the prison-like form of his dog, his math teacher, his sister, or, implausibly but hilariously, his dog again, he would have to overcome a series of challenges to eventually emerge a changed man with a new lease on life. Going on a date with his sister's internet boyfriend! Convincing his family that he's not really a dog! Chaperoning the school dance! Pooping outside because of that dog thing I mentioned earlier! These were difficult and sometimes gross tasks that ultimately made the character a better person.

However, unlike a golden retriever, an immigrant earning minimum-wage serving sub-nutritious sludge to America's school children, or a grotesque, grotesque alien that no woman could ever love, I feel like switching bodies with an old person will not result in that sort of personal improvement. There's a reason there are no self help books advocating for getting in touch with your inner octogenarian. Luckily, there is a cure, and even more luckily, it doesn't involve walking or pledging at all. From my studies, I've learned there are a few different techniques for getting everything "back to normal": simultaneous wishing, magic amulets, mysterious machines in the science lab of your high school that are presumably unapproved by the school board, or vaguely racist fortune cookie curses. Unfortunately, all require the participation of the co-switcher. So if you happen to pass a retirement home and there's someone's grandma expressing enthusiasm for Jaggerbombs, please get us in touch ASAP. In the meantime, I'll be saving up for a Rascal.