My knees buckle but my belt will not
Published 5:31 pm Tuesday, November 2, 2021
There are things in life for folks like me…for lack of a better term (and to be politically correct in this day and age)…..that a well seasoned earthling can learn to accept.
As my 70th year on this planet begins to loom very, very large in life’s windshield, everything about me is wearing out, falling out, or spreading out.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could put ourselves in the dryer for ten minutes and come out wrinkle-free and three sizes smaller!
I’m learning the three signs of old age. The first is your loss of memory. I forget the other two.
I’ve reached that stage of my life where work is a lot less fun…and fun is a lot more work.
You know you’re getting on in years when the women at the office start confiding in you (that really happens to me as males in my office are definitely in the minority).
Last year I joined a support group for procrastinators. We haven’t met yet of as yet!
You know you’re getting old when your doctor warns you to slow down rather than the police!
The only good news about the aging process is that it could be delayed over and over again if it had to work its way through Congress.
I don’t trip over things, I perform random gravity checks!
I don’t need anger management. I just need people to stop ticking me off!
Old age is coming at a really bad time!
Doctor to patient: I have good news and bad news…the good news is that you are not a hypochondriac.
When I was a child I thought nap time was punishment for something I did wrong. Now, as a grown up, it feels more and more like a small vacation!
The biggest lie I tell myself is … “I don’t need to write that down, I’ll remember it.”
Important numbers at my age are 17 around the neck, 42 around the waist, and 95 around the golf course.
Fun at the beach now includes a metal detector.
I don’t have gray hair. I have “wisdom highlights”. I’m just very wise.
You’re getting old when…. the gleam in your eyes is from the sun hitting your bifocals; your little black book contains only names that end in M D; you finally reach the top of the ladder and find it leaning against the wrong wall; you look forward to a dull evening; and/or your favorite part of the newspaper is “25 Years Ago Today.”
My people skills are just fine. It’s my tolerance to idiots that needs work.
My doctor says I need to exercise and recommends to bend over and touch my toes. I replied by asking if Medicare covered a surgical procedure that would transplant my toes to my knees.
Folks will text me for favors, using the word “plz” which is shorter than please. I text back “no” which is shorter than “yes”.
I’m going to retire and live off of my savings. Not sure what I’ll do that second week.
I’m so old that it takes me two attempts to get off the couch.
Six a.m. is now when I get out of bed rather than getting in.
Why do I have to press one for English when you’re just gonna transfer me to someone I can’t understand anyway?
Of course I talk to myself, sometimes I need expert advice.
At my age “getting lucky” means walking into a room and remembering what I came in there for.
At my age you go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and pregnancy tests.
The older I get the better I was.
I used to get lost in the shuffle; now I just shuffle along with the lost.
I’m so old that I remember penny candy, when soft drinks and milk came in glass bottles, party line telephones (or just a regular desk phone for that matter), reel-to-reel tape recorders, Green Stamps, diners with tableside junk boxes, and metal ice cube trays (the ones with the levers).
I can also recall when gas was 30 cents a gallon; when a burger and an order of fries at McDonalds cost a quarter, and a pack of baseball cards (complete with a stick of bubblegum) was yours for a nickel.
I’ve learned in my old age that chocolate comes from cocoa which is a tree. That makes it a plant which means chocolate is salad!
I now turn off the lights for economic rather than romantic reasons.
I’m so old that my knees buckle but my belt will not.
I’m on a 30-day diet. So far I’ve lost 15 days.
By the time a man is wise enough to watch his step, he’s too old to go anywhere.
The wild oats of my youth have turned into bran flakes.
I’m at the point where I stop searching for the meaning of life in order to focus more on finding my car keys.
Aging can also be defined as the time of life when your ears are hairier than your head; you get into a heated argument about pension plans or the your decision to pay for cable TV in order to have access to The Weather Channel (better known as “Old Folks MTV).
And I’ll leave you with this from Jennifer Yane: “Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.”
Cal Bryant is the Editor of Roanoke-Chowan Publications. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org or 252-332-7207.