One time I went to Publix during the day and there were a lot of old people there.  More than usual, I think.  Some people that I passed on my way in talked very disaprovingly and loudly about my hair.  One of them crossed herself, I think.  As soon as I got inside, the guy stocking the yogurt gave me a look, like he was trying to stare me down or something.  At first I didn't understand, but then I realized that his hair was kind of like mine but didn't look as good.  I decided not to get any yogurt.  I saw an old person with some dirt on his forehead, and it freaked me out a little.  Old people being so helpless and frail really bothers me.  Mostly because I'm so afraid of it happening to me, I guess.  Physical weakness really scares the crap out of me.  It's like, if you can't get around, what can you do?  This is one of the reasons I'm afraid of old people.  So anyway, I thought this guy was so helpless that he didn't know he had dirt on his face and he couldn't get it off if he tried.  I went to get some Nutri-Grain bars, but they didn't have mixed berry.  I got peach, and when I looked up, there was an old guy at the oatmeal with dirt on his face.  At first I thought it was the same guy as before, 'cause they all look the same or whatever, but it wasn't. Then I thought the dirt might be a bruise, which only made more vivid how hard it is to be old.   Needless to say, I became more freaked out.  Walking down the cereal aisle, I saw an older couple who had marks on their foreheads, in the same places as the other people.  Then I started seeing it everywhere, and chills went down my spine.  It's like when you go outside in the morning thinking you're safe and happy and you realize that everyone's a pod person--all the old people, anyway.  I'm surprised and a little proud that I didn't walk quickly and quitely out of the store right then and just get in my car and drive.  I'm not sure what kept that from happening, it sure wasn't my calm cool-headedness.  And I'll never understand how I figured it out, since I never know what day of the week it is, nor could I remember any significant date to save my life.  Maybe some hidden memory of my Catholic grandmother surfaced for a moment, I don't know.  But I probably owe a good portion of my present mental health to the fact that I realized it was Ash Wednesday.