Quit with the excuses: I’m older, not dense

Today, yet another rejection came into my e-mailbox. "We have found other candidates whose exoerience more closely ..." Blah blah blah, said the editor to a woman, 61, who has been published in far more news outlets than whatever 30-year-old she just hired.
When I returned to university for my master's at 56, I really had no clue the job market would challenge me. I thought doors would fly open. Instead of flying open, they are stuck shut, only opening with elbow grease.
Why do Americans have such a hard time with the ageing woman? The clue might lay in the revolutionary Sports Illustrated cover girl, Martha Stewart, 81. I do not expect to look that good ever, let alone in 20 years, but why is this even a thing? Are we asking Robert Kraft or Senator Sanders, her peers, to show us their taut muscles in less-than wear? Gosh, I get a little embarrassed iust thinking about it. Yea, I am old enough to remember when Mom bought the Burt Reynolds Cosmo issue in the 70s, too. The joke was a man doing this at all, wink wink, which Reynolds excelled at.
Someone advised me to just give up journalism. Same someone had suggested being a Walmart greeter. Nothing against Walmart greeters, but do you really want a bitter, unemployed journalist snarling at you as you show your receipt for a 24-pack of jello? I have wracked my noggin wondering if, in To Kill a Mockingbird fashion, I can not only understand but accept their prejudice: the verdict is in and I do NOT.
Today's excuse was one of hundreds received since I graduated from King's College London. Admittedly, I have held two jobs since then, and been offered at least five I did not accept. But the ratio of offers-to-rejections is far worse than it was pre-master's, an equation I hadn't even entertained when getting my biometrics done in 2017!
If women are humans, and I believe we are, wouldn't it stand to reason that age = wisdom? I am a much sharper Jeopardy player now. I can name all of Captain Cook's voyages and Jane Austen's novels without blinking. You might get me on the latter, but I can indeed explain how she introduced slavery in the West Indies in "Mansfield Park" in such a nuanced fashion as to be almost undetectable.
Quit with the excuses. Quit with the patronizing "ma'ams" and inane questions about my tech knowledge. Google me, you stupid f%$k.
I hope Martha Stewart's SI splash does more than raise the blood pressure of octogenarians everywhere: I hope it is a wake-up wail to all those Gen Zers who have put us out to pasture, long before our time.

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