One of Those

I don't want to become one of those old people. You know, the ones who walk into a place of business and cause the young counter people to whisper, oooh, he's got something hanging from his chin. Who starts up one aisle, reverses direction for no apparent reason, who can't remember what parking lot he left his car, let alone what space. Whose nieces and nephews avoid him at family functions, who sprains his back putting out the garbage, who cannot slide his car into a space on the first try, whose socks don't match, whose best friend is his dog.
Who trims his own hair with frightening results, who leaves a dollar tip, who goes power walking with sissy one pound weights, who talks really loud on public transportation, who feels he can say anything inappropriate because he is old, who tries to flirt with women who are just doing their job, who takes too damn long walking up or down stairs, who incites giggling among teens for any number of reasons.
I want to be like Cary Grant or Gregory Peck, who never had noodles with gravy hanging from their chins or lips. I want respectful looks and for people to sit up straight when I walk into a room.
I just hope it's the right room.