It happened...literally overnight...about three years ago...I woke up to discover that I couldn't read jack crap any more...nada...zip...especially if the lighting was dim. A toddler's book published in giant kiddie font? Maybe. A newspaper, or this tiny, freaking net book, or, God forbid, a menu in a romantic, candle lit restaurant? Forget about it. I mean, I can't even pay the tab in that setting anymore because I can't read the damn receipt, and I live in fear that I will severely over (in which case my penny-pinching, coupon-cutting, bargain surf 'n'shop wife would become utterly distraught) or under tip the server...only to return to the eatery for another meal one day to have my food spat upon by the offended party.
Getting old sucks...no, it doesn't...yes, it does...no, it's great...no, it's not...I wouldn't be any other age...that's your problem fool, 'cause I'd kill to be young again...to be able to read normal stuff, you know, without reading glasses (I'm up to three pair...one a t work, one on the table next to the couch...and one on the night stand next to the bed) and without the need for flood lights to read by. Such is the lament of people my age, an age group that I fondly refer to as "Tweeniors" (you like that? I made it up...I think). A "tweenior" is someone who is deep, I mean really deep into middle age (let's face it, if I'm middle-aged, I'ma gonna' have a party 'cause I'm gonna' live to be hunnerd), but too young to truly be considered a senior (i.e., they won't give me the early bird discount yet at dinner).
'Tweeniors like me wake up many a morning only to look in the mirror and ask, in a state of shock and perhaps horror, "Who the hell is that in my mirror?" Like I said, getting old sucks for a lot of reasons. As I have whined already, my eyesight went to pot in the blink of an eye, and O...M...G, worst case scenario, what if I don't have or can't find my reading glasses? Can you imagine being reduced to having to ask that pixie who is serving me, "Um, ma'am, could you please read this to me and tell me how much I owe?" And what the hell is up with this hair all over my ears? I mean, what is that about? I have to shave my ears now? Really? And honest to God, I pulled a nose hair the other day that was an inch long...and I 'bout cried too it hurt so bad. And my eye brows, if I don't take a mower to 'em regularly, they are almost like kudzu. And what about the rest of my hair? My follicles, the ones what have survived, are all old and tired and won't hold color anymore. The back of my head has made me a poster boy for that spray on hair color for years now. In front, my hairline has been in steady retreat for some time...I got this one hair, this one lone survivor that sticks out like a sore thumb, seemingly in the middle of my forehead...I mean, there isn't another hair within an inch of it...it's like in its own little follicle desert. I refuse to pull it out of either respect or pity for it...I can't decide which. I just don't understand this whole redistribution of hair thing when you get older...maybe the President could explain it to me.
And what about the rest of my body? Where did my six-pack go? Wait...I think I drank that last weekend (not even kidding myself here...only one I ever had came in either cans or bottles). My skin?...I used to stay tan all the time...even without visiting the Island Tan during the winter (by the way, I went there one time a few years ago and used that machine that tans your whole body, 3-D, while you're standing up...naked?...wasn't in there but ten minutes and couldn't sit down for three days), but like my follicles, my poor, tired ol' skin cells just refuse to take or hold color like they used to. And the crow's feet, and the bags under my eyes, and...well, I don't want to even visit the whole topic of man boobs (makes me think about the episode of Seinfeld where Kramer tries to market "the bro"). And losing weight? It's like what my friend said the other night on Facebook...strict diet, walking every day for months, and weight is down a pound and a half...of course, he was talking about his bulldog...I'm talking about me.
And my brain? I used to be one prodigiously smart dude...seriously. I mean, as a kid, I remember studying the vocabulary from Reader's Digest...in the bathroom...'nuf said. But now, sometimes I can't remember what happened yesterday. I wanna' chalk it up to spending the last thirty-one years hanging out with teenagers all the time but that can't be it entirely because, if that were true, I wouldn't be able to string together a single sentence without the word "like", wouldn't be able to function without earphones jammed in my ear canals, and...the clincher...I don't really like cell phones or video games very much, so "the company I keep" excuse can't entirely explain my individual intellectual decay. And socially? It's just so sad...all the young folks, the ones who are "the bomb", all jiffy pop, the eager beavers, the go-getters, you know, like I used to be...they are starting to treat me like some quirky, dusty, pathetic, old relic that you have to obligatorily call "Sir" and be respectful to and all...you know...because you're their "elder."
Like I said...aging really bites. So if every musty, old gray cloud (clearly intended to be a metaphor for me and the all the negative aspects of my current condition...at least I think it's one...remember, I don't know all that kind of stuff like I use to) really does have its silver lining, then what are all the positives of getting older and being a 'tweenior?...h-m-m-m-m, I'll have to chew on that and get back to you...I'm sure there are some...well, one?...I think...I hope...
Later...
Getting old sucks...no, it doesn't...yes, it does...no, it's great...no, it's not...I wouldn't be any other age...that's your problem fool, 'cause I'd kill to be young again...to be able to read normal stuff, you know, without reading glasses (I'm up to three pair...one a t work, one on the table next to the couch...and one on the night stand next to the bed) and without the need for flood lights to read by. Such is the lament of people my age, an age group that I fondly refer to as "Tweeniors" (you like that? I made it up...I think). A "tweenior" is someone who is deep, I mean really deep into middle age (let's face it, if I'm middle-aged, I'ma gonna' have a party 'cause I'm gonna' live to be hunnerd), but too young to truly be considered a senior (i.e., they won't give me the early bird discount yet at dinner).
'Tweeniors like me wake up many a morning only to look in the mirror and ask, in a state of shock and perhaps horror, "Who the hell is that in my mirror?" Like I said, getting old sucks for a lot of reasons. As I have whined already, my eyesight went to pot in the blink of an eye, and O...M...G, worst case scenario, what if I don't have or can't find my reading glasses? Can you imagine being reduced to having to ask that pixie who is serving me, "Um, ma'am, could you please read this to me and tell me how much I owe?" And what the hell is up with this hair all over my ears? I mean, what is that about? I have to shave my ears now? Really? And honest to God, I pulled a nose hair the other day that was an inch long...and I 'bout cried too it hurt so bad. And my eye brows, if I don't take a mower to 'em regularly, they are almost like kudzu. And what about the rest of my hair? My follicles, the ones what have survived, are all old and tired and won't hold color anymore. The back of my head has made me a poster boy for that spray on hair color for years now. In front, my hairline has been in steady retreat for some time...I got this one hair, this one lone survivor that sticks out like a sore thumb, seemingly in the middle of my forehead...I mean, there isn't another hair within an inch of it...it's like in its own little follicle desert. I refuse to pull it out of either respect or pity for it...I can't decide which. I just don't understand this whole redistribution of hair thing when you get older...maybe the President could explain it to me.
And what about the rest of my body? Where did my six-pack go? Wait...I think I drank that last weekend (not even kidding myself here...only one I ever had came in either cans or bottles). My skin?...I used to stay tan all the time...even without visiting the Island Tan during the winter (by the way, I went there one time a few years ago and used that machine that tans your whole body, 3-D, while you're standing up...naked?...wasn't in there but ten minutes and couldn't sit down for three days), but like my follicles, my poor, tired ol' skin cells just refuse to take or hold color like they used to. And the crow's feet, and the bags under my eyes, and...well, I don't want to even visit the whole topic of man boobs (makes me think about the episode of Seinfeld where Kramer tries to market "the bro"). And losing weight? It's like what my friend said the other night on Facebook...strict diet, walking every day for months, and weight is down a pound and a half...of course, he was talking about his bulldog...I'm talking about me.
And my brain? I used to be one prodigiously smart dude...seriously. I mean, as a kid, I remember studying the vocabulary from Reader's Digest...in the bathroom...'nuf said. But now, sometimes I can't remember what happened yesterday. I wanna' chalk it up to spending the last thirty-one years hanging out with teenagers all the time but that can't be it entirely because, if that were true, I wouldn't be able to string together a single sentence without the word "like", wouldn't be able to function without earphones jammed in my ear canals, and...the clincher...I don't really like cell phones or video games very much, so "the company I keep" excuse can't entirely explain my individual intellectual decay. And socially? It's just so sad...all the young folks, the ones who are "the bomb", all jiffy pop, the eager beavers, the go-getters, you know, like I used to be...they are starting to treat me like some quirky, dusty, pathetic, old relic that you have to obligatorily call "Sir" and be respectful to and all...you know...because you're their "elder."
Like I said...aging really bites. So if every musty, old gray cloud (clearly intended to be a metaphor for me and the all the negative aspects of my current condition...at least I think it's one...remember, I don't know all that kind of stuff like I use to) really does have its silver lining, then what are all the positives of getting older and being a 'tweenior?...h-m-m-m-m, I'll have to chew on that and get back to you...I'm sure there are some...well, one?...I think...I hope...
Later...
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