“I have a Dream.”

Martin Luther King, Jr. His dream is yet to be fulfilled.
I read a recent blog where a 50 year-old man was concerned about being old. Reminds me of the things I wrote about when I was the same age. But to write about being or becoming old, a person should have some experience and being 50 is not akin to being old. I suppose the guy was showing more angst than anything.
I am definitely getting old. There is now more hair growing from my ear canals than there is atop my head. My eyebrows look like two hungover wooly worms having a bad hair day. The bags under my eyes have become full fledged sacks. My eyes no longer make their own tears; I have some extra-virgin tears imported from Italy. Trimming nose hair is a twice-weekly annoyance. My chin was once fairly prominent; now it and all its folds gradually meld into my chest. My jowls flap and are difficult to shave. My ears and the corners of my mouth sag. I see a chocolate commercial on television and a tooth falls out. My chest hair is suddenly becoming all white. My little man-boobies are now larger than those of many women whom I lusted after in my youth. I can’t suck in my gut enough to see if I have any pubic hair left and I have to floss between the fat wrinkles on my belly. My scrotum is sagging to the size where I wanted it to be back when it was useful for something. About five years ago, my sex drive was spotted crossing the border into Tijuana, Mexico and hasn’t even bothered to send me a postcard. I have to wear Velcro strap shoes because I can’t bend past my belly to tie laces. I suppose I should rename my blog to “Loose Straps”. I need a new pair of sneakers but I have these which I have worn for eight years stretched to fit my bunions and hammer-toes. My separate crutches work under either arm and I cannot figure out whether they are bi-sexual or bi-polar. I sometimes have senior moments when I think I am a Conservative. I used to fret about which brand of condom was best but now it is worrying about brands of adult diapers that takes up half my day.
Well, at lest I am still here to write about it.
Have a fantastic Worsh Day!

Published in: on January 16, 2012 at 12:22 pm  Comments (6)  

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  1. Actually it’s not a problem of old age, I think. You behave and you wrote this post as you were a bit abandoned and not beloved man. Additionally, a man who decided to hate his body. Now Carolyn should touch your tenderly, kiss you and tell you that you are beautiful. If she do it, your bitter thoughts will fly away and the mirror won’t be so important in your life.
    Anyway, your new blog post is well written, my friend. And I smiled many times while reading it. 🙂

    • I mainly wrote the blog because it is Monday and I wanted to try to make everyone’s day a bit lighter. Most of the things I described have yet to happen, although a couple have happened and are happening. I love my mirror; I have a small, round, make-up mirror on my desk in which I can see my reflection any time I look up from the keyboard. I see a handsome fellow in the glass. My chest hair is still mostly dark but I am becoming very thin-haired on my head.
      Thanks, Jola. 🙂

      • I know that you like to make fun of yourself, so I guessed that it was your another game with us. Nevertheless I must admit the description of your ageing is very vivid. 🙂

      • I like to have fun describing myself; I feel much like Rodney Dangerfield did about himself. As long as Imake fun of my own short comings, I am leaving someone else alone.
        Thanks, my friend. 🙂

  2. You had me a man-boobies.

    It is a weird thing when your body begins to feel old and your mind still feels like a kid.

    • Well, for man-boobies mine are cute! 🙂
      Thanks, Mark.

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