“I am not invisible,” my new neighbor told me at a cocktail party not too long ago. “And I resent being treated like I am.”

She was discussing her shopping experiences. Explaining that it really irks her when she walks into a store and the saleslady rushes to help two young women behind her, while acting like she’ s not even there.

“My money is just as good as theirs. I don’t get it,” she complained.

But she did, and so do I. The older you get, the more people’s attitudes about you change. And not necessarily for the better.

 Maybe there’s a valid reason for old-age profiling. Maybe we don’t move as fast as we once did. Perhaps it takes us a little longer to remember someone’s name. Our hearing and eyesight are not what they once were.

But we are here, and most of us aren’t going to disappear without a fight.

We don’t like to have things explained to us like we are children. We are capable of asking questions if we don’t understand. I even had to remind ChatGPT to quit bringing up my age when I ask for assistance. I am not to be pandered to or patronized because I’ve been around for a while.

The other night my husband and I were watching Landman with Billy Bob Thornton. In the series, Billy Bob’s ex-wife works at an “old folks” home. Talk about stereotypical. The characters act like children. They drink too much. They fall asleep on a bus trip to a casino where they promptly lose all their money.

“Do you find these characterizations and stereotypes as annoying as I do?” I asked my man half-way through the show.

He nodded. “Only you are allowed to make fun of me, because I’m an old person” he said and grinned.

The worst insults come via my newsfeed.

“Look at this 92-year-old actress on the red carpet. Isn’t she stunning FOR HER AGE.”

If you want to get my dander up, tell me that I’m “remarkable for my age” or “that I look good for my age” or that I’m in “pretty good shape for my age.”

Was I supposed to fall apart when I turned 65? I am what I am. A little fatter. A few more wrinkles. But still me.

What about those awful Progressive commercials where young people are chided for becoming their parents—overly friendly or helpful, following rules, not being tech-savvy, or talking to dogs they pass on a walk.

Amusing, I suppose, but also insulting. Who doesn’t stop walking to talk to a cute puppy?

So, we are going out with our new neighbors. Just so you know, we won’t be going at 3:30, and I’m guessing we’ll have just as much fun—and maybe more—than when we went out with friends twenty years ago. Oh, and the good news is that we aren’t the ones doing the driving.