High: 74°F ~ Low: 52°F
Friday, May 22, 2015
38 is middle age whether you like it or notPosted Monday, January 30, 2012, at 12:09 PM
Sometimes we must smell things we don't want to smell, see things we don't want to see and hear things we don't want to hear.
Here goes one of those situations: If you are 38 years old you are middle age and perhaps a tad past it. Deal with it. Americans are obsessed with age. I have known people in their 60s who still claim they are middle-aged. What? From what planet are you from: From what island in the Pacific with absolutely no hope of rescue do you live on? Sixty-five years old may be middle age if it is rational to believe you will live to be 130.
Joan Rivers admits that she has had her faced lifted so many times her navel is now located near her Adam's apple. Dolly Parton has had so many surgeries she looks like Porter Wagoner. This has caused me to ruminate about being middle-aged or a bit farther down the Interstate called life. You are middle aged or maybe even older if:
* You don't know what you look like. There is one person in the mirror, another in pictures and at least one more in your mind.
* You look in the mirror and see your father or mother looking back at you. Whoopsie.
* You (a man) look in the catalog or at Penney's and notice all of the multi-colored jockey shorts on sale but you only have whitey-tighties. You have some boxer shorts but only wear them as jammies.
* You find yourself making choices of food at the grocery by cholesterol count, fat content and amount of salt.
* A proctologist has taken more than one gondola ride through your alimentary canal to arrest and eradicate any and all polyps. The sound of a person putting on rubber gloves makes you break out into a sweat.
* After hearing the minister's latest sermon you realize that everything you like is either illegal, immoral or fattening. You begin to justify that if no one sees you it doesn't count
* You still use that barbers comb you have had for at least 30 years but instead of combing your hair you begin to arrange it, place it, coordinate it with your scalp and you are always aware of which way the wind is blowing. Combover is not a town in Arkansas. There is more hair in your ears, nose and eye brows than on your head. You often ponder letting that hair grow and crocheting it into a mat on top of your head.
* When the adverts on the TV shows you watch are for hemorrhoid relief, burial insurance, power chairs, stair lifts, constipation and occasional irregularity and false teeth adhesives.
* You turn out the lights for economic instead of romantic reasons.
* You make a bucket list and realize that you are too tired to do any of them.
* Getting a little action means your prunes are working.
* Getting lucky means you found your car in the parking lot at Sprawl-mart.
This has been a community service announcement brought to you by Geezer Enterprises, Ink, and does reflect the views of this columnist.
Larry grew up north of Calvertville on a farm and graduated from Worthington High School and Indiana State University. He can be reached at Goosecrick@aol.com or (317) 839-7656. He has written five books.
Showing comments in chronological order
[Show most recent comments first]
Respond to this blog
Posting a comment requires free registration:
Hot topicsWe know segregation by its first name
(0 ~ 7:01 PM, Apr 23)
Hiram, Al and Mor always traveled together
What's wrong with a yard full of crabgrass?
I didn't hear what I had expected from those folks
Red Flags Say Run Do Not Walk To The Nearest Exit