Someone I know, a little older than me, got a letter from AARP with MEMBERSHIP EXPIRATION printed in giant red letters on the front.

That is an aggressive choice of phrasing.

Milk expires. Yogurt expires. Apparently now Gary from Clifton expires.

AARP has quietly started printing sell-by dates on people.

If I got that envelope, I wouldn’t renew anything. I’d call my doctor.

“Quick question: is there something the two of us need to discuss? Because AARP knows, and they don’t even have my bloodwork. They just have actuarial tables and confidence.”

If AARP is sending notices about my future, I’d also like to know who they partnered with.

WebMD? A local witch? The cashier at CVS who always looks at me like she’s already heard something?

Because MEMBERSHIP EXPIRATION doesn’t sound like “your benefits are ending.”

It sounds like HR language for death.

“We regret to inform you that your participation in the living program will not be renewed.”

Which raises another concern: I didn’t realize being alive was a membership.

I thought I was just here.

Apparently, at birth, somebody enrolled me in Life. I clicked “Accept Terms and Conditions” without reading them, and now forty-some years later Member Services is getting aggressive.

If that’s the arrangement, fine.

I’d like to renew.

Immediately.

Actually, put me on auto-renew.

Whatever card you have on file, keep charging it until the card itself expires.

Do you have a five-year plan? Ten-year?

And if you offer a lifetime membership, I’m going to need a much clearer explanation of what you mean by “lifetime.”

Who approved the original wording anyway?

Was there no meeting where somebody raised a hand and said, “Maybe we shouldn’t make this sound like Harold from Parsippany has until Thursday?”

If this is just a subscription notice, stay in your lane.

Say RENEW NOW.

Say DON’T MISS YOUR BENEFITS.

Don’t send me something that makes me wonder whether the next line is:

IF ALREADY DECEASED, PLEASE FORWARD TO NEXT OF KIN.

At minimum, put a disclaimer on the envelope:

“This is not a diagnosis. AARP is not responsible for sudden church attendance, unsolicited apologies, revisions to your will, or telling your children where you hid the good watch.”

Anyway, if you get one of these, renew.

Auto-renew, actually.

Because if AARP has somehow figured out how to connect continued existence to an annual membership fee, I am no longer comparison shopping.