I celebrated my 54th birthday in July. Well, not really celebrated. Mourned might be the better word. Not that I minded getting older. In fact, other than cold sweats, weeping, wailing, sudden fits, and gnashing of teeth, I was quite calm about it.
Just think: the world has endured -- enjoyed 54 years of me. This does explain a few things, doesn’t it? Global warming, environmental degradation, those CD cases that are impossible to get into without a cutting torch -- I had nothing to do with any of those so why are you blaming me?
What really annoys me about getting older is how my body is wearing out. You’d figure after all this work I’ve done in avoiding work in any fashion, I’d be in better shape. I mean, why would my body be wearing out? It hasn’t had to do anything in years!
But my eyes are going bad, my back wants to fold up like a Republican’s conscience, my waist is expanding faster than a Democrat’s budget, my hair is departing my scalp and moving into my ears, and my brain is forgetting things I didn’t even know I knew.
Speaking of my brain, the other day someone asked me some question and I was trying to remember something when someone else came by and maybe asked the same question and I told another someone about how that first someone was always asking something about something, if you know what I mean.
I’m not saying I’m over the hill, but the view is awesome from where I’m at. I can see for miles and miles and miles, or I could if I could find my glasses. Oh, they’re on top of my head. Who put them there? Someone’s been sneaking in and moving things around my house. Probably those pesky Methodists again.
I blame my siblings for my advancing age: my older sister gets older and she pulls my older brother along, and he pulls me along, and my younger sister pushes me from behind! It’s no wonder I’m not as young as I used to be! If my older sister would just stop, this senseless aging would be over. I’m sure my other siblings wouldn't mind. But she has up a head of steam, and if I know my older sister -- and I do, despite her claims that she’s never heard of me -- she’s not going to stop until we all reach our 90s. Or older.
Well, there are worse things than being only 34. Shut up. No one needs your math.
(Copyright 2015 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. From the forthcoming book Floozy Comes Back.)