Each Wednesday at 1:00, a group of guys from our development meet at Wegman's for lunch. Wegman's is a supermarket / specialty food service store headquartered in Rochester, NY with stores in the Northeast down into Virginia. If you don't live in that area, you don't know what you're missing. They're light years ahead of their competition, and Consumer Reports gives them all red circles across the board.
Anyway, each week these usual suspects, retirees from our "55 and better" community, gather no doubt to give their wives a break. I haven't gotten to know all of the dozen or so in the group, but so far, there's a state policeman, a couple of combat vets, a dentist, a sales rep, an editor, an IT guy, and a writer (me), on the lookout for new material.
I scanned the table as we were finishing, realizing we were a league of nations, from different parts of the Northeast, whose lives somehow whirl pooled to settle in our development, and not somewhere else.
"Hey, John," the cop asked, "how old are you?"
"I just last month made it to Medicare."
"Really?" he said, "But that still makes you the baby of this group."
After they all got a chuckle, I replied, "No it doesn't. I'm on the first wave of Baby Boomers, which makes me a senior member of my group. You guys are just a bunch of old farts, whom I'm just visiting, and besides (ala Groucho Marx) I wouldn't want to belong to any group that would have me as a member.
Laughs all around. These old classic jokes still work.