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Getting Older

How to tell when you’re getting older: You start getting out of bed at the same time you used to come home. You start looking at the mother instead of the daughter. Your insurance covers the drugs you used to buy in college. You start to ache in places you didn’t know were places. You still want to chase women, but only when they’re going downhill. You realize there’s been no good music since the early 1970s. You start to hear words that you know aren’t really words, like positivity. Someone or something sneaks into your closet at night to shrink your clothes just a little bit every week. There’s nothing on iTunes that you want to buy. A woman in a bar smiles and winks at you, and all you can do is laugh. A hot tub becomes a medical requirement. You keep looking at people and saying “What?” The Early Bird Special actually starts to sound like a good idea. Even Dunkin Donuts will give you a discount.

You’re not procrastinating; you really don’t have the energy. When you drop something, you have a debate with yourself about whether you really need to pick it up. You have to take more pills than you have fingers on one hand. Your clothes are hopelessly out of style and you really don’t give a damn. You’re staring at a beautiful woman in the grocery store not because she’s beautiful, but because she just snagged the last two almost-ripe avocados. Your grandson tells you he’s learning about the Vietnam War in history class. You’re more concerned about nose and ear hair than what’s on your head. Medicare and Social Security finally start to sound like good ideas. Your appointment book is filled with doctors. You have someone else mow your lawn and clean your pool. The last late-night television you watched was Johnny Carson. You start to really look forward to five o’clock. You still order the fried seafood platter, but you split it with your partner. You can navigate from your bed to the bathroom in complete darkness. You hear about all the side effects of the drugs they advertise on television and decide it’s better to just die. Your Facebook feed is filled with ads for AARP. You remember when the hashtag used to simply be the number sign. You use online banking, but still have checks—just in case. You hold a door open for a woman and she glares at you like you’re doing something horrible. You look at your grandchildren’s homework and know you couldn’t do it. You finally don’t have to try to impress anyone anymore. You keep putting the same portions on your plate even though you know you don’t have a prayer of eating it all.

You’re not losing your hair … you’re gaining forehead! Walking becomes a high-intensity workout. You take pills to counteract the side effects of your other pills.

Three to four hours of uninterrupted sleep is money in the bank. You decide that you really can get by on a lot less money than you used to think you needed. A threesome is an appetizer, entrée, and dessert.


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