Pardon me, but I plan not to get old...

Yep. That's my plan. I refuse to get old. When I start stumbling, my teeth come out, my eyes tear and I have to squint to read the BIG PRINT with my glasses on, my Supphose roll south without my permission, I start considering bathing and clean clothes as optional, and I am only modestly drooling, I am declaring myself dead!! I'll go find a nice cool place to sit and wait for the Grim Reaper (who names a kid that and expects anything positive to come of it?) to ask me to the dance. Of course, I might get scared, or bored, or hungry and wander off to find something to soothe me (chocolate), entertain me (American Idol Season 25), or feed me (more chocolate, please) and then the GR will show up and I won't be there and he'll get impatient and take off, find someone else to "grim" out of existence, and I'll come back to my little spot and be left waiting until I actually do expire. At least I won't end up wearing drool bibs to catch the saliva, adult diapers to catch other exiting "materials", wandering the halls of some facility, eating food that requires no teeth, no tastebuds and no swallowing, playing Bingo when I can't remember where I put my Bingo card and markers, thinking that another old person playing the piano badly and singing off-key with his dentures keeping time to the music is entertaining, and going on bus trips with a bunch of other old people just like me to places we'll never remember unless we do something humiliating and our facility friends who still have mental light bulbs that aren't flickering, remind us daily of the "event" that made the "Senior Citizen Gazette" front page. I'd like to bow out gracefully, and, if I can't manage that because my arthritis is acting up, I'll just walk into the sunset. Now which way is west?