As we age, the number of experiences forming our memory bank continues to grow. However, because time moves so quickly, these same experiences often feel as if they “happened yesterday.” This increase in life-long memories, combined with a vivid sense of recall, creates a condition I refer to as “Clinically Chronic Early Onset Humiliation.”
So… With this in mind, I believe “Aging Gracefully” becomes more difficult as the years go by. Experiences you encounter today, may suddenly trigger a memory from years go, which elicit a response such as “Okay. That hurts.” At least, that is, from the male perspective, which is the one I’m most familiar with.
I’ve learned memories can be treasured, but they can also confirm you were once quite delusional. And I can’t help but wonder if other men have made these same observations.
Your golfing buddies have gone from wondering, “How do you hit it so far?” to wondering, “Why don’t you take advantage of the forward tees?” Strippers now look at you more out of empathy than interest, and even throwing $5 on the stage is no assurance you’ll get a burumph.
You notice a group of older ladies having lunch and realize they’re aging gracefully, but, maybe, just maybe, it’s because their husbands have stopped aging altogether. One of your friends mentions that, in The Villages, one of Florida’s largest retirement communities, women outnumber men 10 to 1. This sounds encouraging until you realize your chances are, therefore, 10 to 1 of ever setting foot it on the property, let alone boinking a spry 80-year old with a “young spirit” and minimal facial hair.
The mirror, which used to be a reflection of virile power, has gradually become hurtful. Now you back up to the bathroom mirror and hold up a hand mirror to see just how thin your hair really is. And looking straight on, you realize your chins have officially become a waddle, and you’ve grown “love handles” just when nobody’s interested in hanging on. Looking even further down, you forego the idea of investing in a penis enlarger while wondering why your scrotum looks like one of those hairless cats hanging upside down.
You stop using the words “Fuck” and “Shit” because they remind you of happier days when these things happened naturally. And you consider taking down that picture of the kids and putting up a defibrillator.
And then there’s the wife…
In a man’s later years, our wives instruct us to buy cheaper clothes and better cuts of beef. They stop buying lingerie at Victoria’s Secret and wish Home Depot carried underthings.
You tell your wife, “I want to cuddle,” and she informs you, “People in hell want ice water.” And while I don’t fully understand the correlation, my money is on the people in hell.
Over the years, I have purchased any number of items from “Frederick’s of Hollywood,” that are now adorning the sale rack at Goodwill awaiting a new generation of pitiful dreamers. And, finally, at one time wives would ask, ”Where would you like to go on vacation?” and now they wonder, “Where would you like your ashes scattered?”
Actually, I consider “Aging gracefully” to be somewhat akin to, “temporary tax increase” -- no one’s really fooling anyone.
How about that?
So… With this in mind, I believe “Aging Gracefully” becomes more difficult as the years go by. Experiences you encounter today, may suddenly trigger a memory from years go, which elicit a response such as “Okay. That hurts.” At least, that is, from the male perspective, which is the one I’m most familiar with.
I’ve learned memories can be treasured, but they can also confirm you were once quite delusional. And I can’t help but wonder if other men have made these same observations.
Your golfing buddies have gone from wondering, “How do you hit it so far?” to wondering, “Why don’t you take advantage of the forward tees?” Strippers now look at you more out of empathy than interest, and even throwing $5 on the stage is no assurance you’ll get a burumph.
You notice a group of older ladies having lunch and realize they’re aging gracefully, but, maybe, just maybe, it’s because their husbands have stopped aging altogether. One of your friends mentions that, in The Villages, one of Florida’s largest retirement communities, women outnumber men 10 to 1. This sounds encouraging until you realize your chances are, therefore, 10 to 1 of ever setting foot it on the property, let alone boinking a spry 80-year old with a “young spirit” and minimal facial hair.
The mirror, which used to be a reflection of virile power, has gradually become hurtful. Now you back up to the bathroom mirror and hold up a hand mirror to see just how thin your hair really is. And looking straight on, you realize your chins have officially become a waddle, and you’ve grown “love handles” just when nobody’s interested in hanging on. Looking even further down, you forego the idea of investing in a penis enlarger while wondering why your scrotum looks like one of those hairless cats hanging upside down.
You stop using the words “Fuck” and “Shit” because they remind you of happier days when these things happened naturally. And you consider taking down that picture of the kids and putting up a defibrillator.
And then there’s the wife…
In a man’s later years, our wives instruct us to buy cheaper clothes and better cuts of beef. They stop buying lingerie at Victoria’s Secret and wish Home Depot carried underthings.
You tell your wife, “I want to cuddle,” and she informs you, “People in hell want ice water.” And while I don’t fully understand the correlation, my money is on the people in hell.
Over the years, I have purchased any number of items from “Frederick’s of Hollywood,” that are now adorning the sale rack at Goodwill awaiting a new generation of pitiful dreamers. And, finally, at one time wives would ask, ”Where would you like to go on vacation?” and now they wonder, “Where would you like your ashes scattered?”
Actually, I consider “Aging gracefully” to be somewhat akin to, “temporary tax increase” -- no one’s really fooling anyone.
How about that?
