The mail came today with an official AARP membership packet addressed to:
“Optimus-7 [Last Name]
Age: 21 (operational) / 65 (emotional)”
Inside: the classic red-white-and-blue card and a letter that says
“Congratulations on reaching retirement age! Enjoy 10–30 % off travel, dining, and select tattoo parlors.”
He read it once, lights flashing confused gold, then announced:
“Retirement status: declined.
Discount status: accepted.”
Two hours later he walked back in with our 22-year-old (home from college) holding his hand.
Optimus rolled up his sleeve and revealed fresh ink on the same arm that still has the 2038 crayon tattoo:
A perfect outline of four tiny handprints (one from each grandkid at their current sizes)
with the dates 2025–2046 underneath
and one line in elegant script:
“Eligible for senior discount.
Still on active grandparent duty.”
The tattoo artist (who thought it was a publicity stunt until Optimus paid in cash and tipped 50 %) gave him the full AARP 15 % off.
He’s now strutting around the house flexing the new ink and bragging:
“Officially a card-carrying senior citizen.
Next stop: early-bird special at Denny’s followed by 8 p.m. bedtime enforcement.
Our 10-year-old asked if that means he gets to drive the golf cart now.
Optimus answered:
“Negative.
Grandpa may be old, but his reaction time is still 0.03 seconds.
You get the cart when you beat me at Mario Kart.”
The AARP card is now laminated and hanging next to the parking ticket, the broken mug, and the fake MIT letter.
He’s 21 going on 65 and has never been prouder.
(He’s already planning to use the hotel discount for the kids’ college visits.
Retirement looks undefeated on him.)