Sunday, June 12, 2011

I'm a Senior-ish Citizen!

Well, I never saw that hill coming, but it seems as if I may be over it.

Yes, at the tender age of 59 years and seven months, I am considered - in some corners - a senior citizen. An old fart, if you will (and many of you will). In some places - such as my local Bob Evans Restaurant, you are considered a "senior citizen" if you are over 55 - a crock, in my humble opinion.

I don't mind getting older, of course, for it clearly beats the alternative (if you get my drift). But somehow I don't usually feel my chronological age. When I dance with Agnes and the other beautiful ladies on Friday nights, I certainly don't feel like I'm pushing 60. And when I'm playing with my grandchildren, I don't feel my age, either ... until an hour or so later, when I usually feel like I'm well over 90 and someone's been beating me with a two-by-four.

But let's face it ... I'm getting older. I'm a senior-ish citizen. How do I know? Here are a few of the clues ...

I’m the life of the party, even if it lasts until 8PM.

I’m very good at opening child-proof caps. With a hammer and pliers.

I’m usually ready to go home before I get where I’m going.

I’m good on a trip for at least an hour without my aspirin, Beano, and antacid tablets

I know the location of every bathroom in every public place I regularly visit ... and the first thing I do when visiting a new venue is check out the location of the facilities.

I’m awake at least an hour before my body allows me to get up.

I smile all the time because I can’t hear a word you’re saying.

I’m very good at telling stories … over and over and over.

It's perfectly clear to me that other people’s grandchildren aren’t as bright as mine.

I’m not grouchy, I just don’t like traffic, waiting, crowds, children, gun nuts, religious wackos, and politicians.

I’m positive I did housework correctly before Agnes retired.

I’m sure everything I can’t find is in the secure place I put it so I wouldn't lose it.

I’m wrinkled, saggy and lumpy…and that’s just my left leg.

I’m having trouble remembering simple words like … uh ... let me get back to you on that.

I’m spending more time with my pillows than with my wife.

I realize that aging isn’t for sissies.

I’m anti-everything now: anti-fat, anti-smoke, anti-noise, anti-inflammatory, antipasto, etc.

I’m walking more (especially to the bathroom) and enjoying it less.

I've noticed that adults seem to be a lot younger these days.

If it's true that you're as old as you feel, how could I possibly be 150 when I get up at 4:00 AM on workdays, and 21 when the dance party starts at 9:00 on Friday evening?

I support many movements … usually by eating bran, prunes and raisins.

I’m a fountain of useless information … and the plumbing of my fountain is springing a lot of leaks lately.

On the whole: I’m a senior-ish citizen and I’m having the time of my life!

What time is it, again?

Have a good day. More thoughts tomorrow.



Amanda said...

I have been hanging out with a lot of senior-ish citizens at clogging class and I love it. Its true that I feel young around them but at the same time, I don't think of them as oldies. They've got all the wisdom (and parenting war stories), lots of energy and they get to go clogging without worrying about the little kids at home.

I'm not wanting to rush there or anything but that senior-ish time looks like a fun time.

Margaret (Peggy or Peg too) said...

Bilbo I did not ask to join this cult, err club, and yet it has accepted me as a charter member. I don't like the hours of this club, the tests of pain tolerance, and I think it's darn right mean when they play brain tricks like taking my car keys and putting them somewhere I'd never find them.I am beginning to think that this cult, I mean club, has taken me hostage. I'll let you know if I find a way out. Hang in there.

Raquel's World said...

But hey at least you get a discount.

Duckbutt said...

I've always preferred the term 'superannuated flatus.'

Mike said...

Aging isn’t for sissies. (Where did I hear that before?)

The Mistress of the Dark said...

Sad part is they sound the AARP memberships at 50!

Anonymous said...

One of the oddest things about growing old, and by that I mean really old like my great-grandparents is that folks seem to lose awareness of when they fart. It's crazy! My great-grandmom still wears a hat and gloves to church, but every time she rises from a chair... pffft! Poppy still keeps himself looking great, but when he bends over or anything... pffft!

Naturally my three younger brothers and I find this unbearably funny, but can't laugh at the moment, because the elders want to know what it was that made us laugh. They caught us once, and Stevie my youngest brother told them we were laughing because we'd heard the rare barking spiders in the living room. This started an entirely bizarre chain of discussion to the point where mom was ready to remove the family to the summer house and call the exterminators. We finally got her alone and explained the situation of the barking spiders and she claimed never to have heard the flatulence. We think she was being diplomatic.