To Be Able to Pee Like That Again...

My mom once told me that growing old isn’t for wimps.  I didn’t know what she meant at the time, but I totally get it now that I’ve hit fifty.  My knees sound like Rice Krispies, my back aches most mornings, my hair is grey and I’m asleep by 10, up before dawn.

This all didn’t happen overnight, of course.  My back went south at 40.  The grey peppered in my late thirties and now, during occasional on air stints, it shimmers silver.  The snap, crackle and pop in my joints started around fifty.  I shudder to think what sixty will bring.

Looking older than I is nothing new.  Parents of opposing teams in Little League wanted to see my birth certificate.  I had a relatively long-term relationship with the folks at South Peabody Liquors back in high school. Looking older may have been an advantage as a teenager, it certainly is no advantage now.

Some folks insist on aging me prematurely.  When I was 47 I stopped for coffee at a White Castle one morning before a work trip.

“That’ll be seventy cents at the first window,” said the voice in the box.

I pulled around wondering what the special was on coffee today.

“Here you go,” I said, handing over a dollar. “Why so cheap?”

“Your senior discount!” the older-than-I lady chirped to me cheerily.

“Um…I’m not quite there yet.”

“Really?” she exclaimed, making me feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy.

“Really.”

“Hmmm…must be all the grey hair that threw me,” she added.  “It’s okay, I’ll let you have it anyway!”

Really???  Thanks!  It really was the least you could do after banging me over the head with how old I look - several times in a single interaction!

Last year Heather and I went to dinner at Treasure Island.  She had to make a stop on the way to the buffet so I struck up a conversation with the gentleman next to me.  When she re-joined me I excused us, explaining we were heading to dinner.

“It was nice talking to you,” he smiled. “I hope you and your daughter have a nice dinner.”

Good Lord!

At least I get an AARP discount now.

Last week, at a rest stop in Iowa, I glimpsed my future.

As happens when driving for a billion hours straight you have to pee and, usually, pee badly.  I parked at the rest stop and hustled on in.  I was well behind an elderly gentleman with a cane who had bellied up to the lone urinal by the time I got to the restroom.  I sidled into the stall nearby and proceeded to do my business, strong and steady. 

I heard the old man mutter under his breath, “Ah…to be able to pee like that again…”

Swell…