You know you’re old when…

One beer consumed with dinner still causes a hangover the next morning. Apparently I now need to drink twice as much water for whatever alcohol I’ve consumed which 1.) really doesn’t feel good to do at the time, sloshly stomach factor-wise, and 2.) makes one look like an old fart when he’s trying to be sociable. But okay, message from brain received. And I’m living in wine country why again?

The same set of stairs one has used for the past 19 months start to cause joints to sing a song, a little longer every time they are traversed. Once upon a time my right knee (the non-operated-on one) would click a couple of times while climbing the stairs in our house. Now it sings like Pavarotti. This is why I’m happy to announce that my right knee has a new recording contract from CBS Records.

You jump up and down with glee when getting carded for the beer mentioned in the first paragraph. And then you realize that jumping up and down doesn’t work so well anymore, so you just smile a lot, now looking like some creepy, semi-crazy dude. And the picture on your ID is horrible to boot, so you’d rather not show it to anyone. That gets the smile to go away pretty quickly.

Whatever skill you’ve gained from experience starts to become eroded by a lack of memory in how to repeat it. Sure, I’ve made the Joy of Cooking’s pancake recipe hundreds of times, but I still can’t recall the ingredient list, the page it’s on, or which measuring cup makes the best pancake pouring device. People are kind enough to eat them anyway. But I know they’re humoring me.

Those two gray hairs you’ve been avoiding suddenly decide to throw a gray hair party, and you realize you’re growing a clump that makes you look like Jay Leno. And that guy is such an ass clown nobody wants to look like him. A sudden red beard would be so much better, but there’s not a drop of Irish in you.

You see punk teenagers chasing ducks around for fun, and you yell at them to stop. Oh my, ain’t that just the mood killer? You realize you are That Guy. Long live the high school class of 1988.

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Categories: ponderings


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