And as we age, life sends us little messages along the way, to remind us we are aging.
I have some personal experience in this area.
The first time was when I took my dog Penny for a walk in the park. Two kids came up to me and said, “Hey Mister, can we pet your dog?”
Mister? MISTER??!! When the hell did I become “Mister?” Little brats.
(That actually may not have been the first time, but that’s just another sign of getting older – you can’t remember as much stuff as you used to.)
Then there was the first time I went to see a doctor and he was younger than me. That was a real eye-opener.
Then there was the time I reached the age of forty and went for my annual physical. “Now that you’re 40, we’re going to add a prostate exam to your yearly checkup,” my doctor said. Clueless as to what that meant, I said, “Okay, sure doc, if you gotta check the prostate, ya gotta check the prostate. Have at it.” Then, as he donned one rubber glove, he explained the procedure. My doctor has a wicked sense of humor, so I said, “Get out of here” thinking he was just messing with me. He wasn’t.
The worst time was when I was coming home one night, around 9:30, and stopped at a 7-11 to buy some Hostess Cupcakes and a quart of milk to wash it down with. On line in front of me were two guys, buying a case of beer, talking about the girls they were on their way to see. And it hit me – when did I become the guy heading home at 9:30, his night just ending, instead of the guy heading out at 9:30 with a bottle of wine and a date, his night just beginning? Ugh.
And then there was this past Sunday morning. I was reaching for the Raisin Bran on an upper shelf in my kitchen cabinet, and . . . I pulled a lat muscle.
NOT swinging a golf club, NOT exercising at the gym, not out for an evening jog. Getting cereal out of the cabinet.
I’ve apparently reached the age where something as seemingly harmless as making breakfast can be hazardous to my health.
Of course, the rudest awakening is what happened to a friend of mine. (No really, it was a friend, not me.) He was about to engage in sexual congress (sexual congress is the good kind of congress, not the worthless kind like we have in Washington, DC.) Just as he was, umm, how can I put this? – just as his Apollo 11 was going for reentry it crash landed (insert sad trombone here, WOMP, WOMP.) He was unable to perform due to Erectile Dysfunction.
This hasn’t happened to me yet, knock on wood (and, thankfully I still can.) But when it does, I know what to do – set up an appointment to see the doctors at American Male Medical.