Getting old isn’t much fun at all.  I suppose I choose it only because it seems better than the alternative.  But I have had memory-lapses, decreased vision, skin tags, memory- lapses, painful hemorrhoidal swelling, high cholestoral, cataracs, not to mention – memory lapses.

Getting old means taking medications with bad side effects – like poverty.  It means that what used to be a gleam in my eye – is now the sun hitting my bifocals.  I have gold in my teeth, silver in my beard and lead in my ass.

I am tired of having a birthday cake that looks like a prairie fire and I REALLY HATE getting a prospectus from the nursing home marked “URGENT”.  I have developed such far-sightedness that I can’t read a document that is located in the same area code.

But all the above does not hold a candle to the humiliation and mortification that Brunhilda saw fit to put me through just this last week.

Perhaps a little background would be in order.  Brunhilde is a very generous person and is especially generous with me.  She anticipates what I need better than I do.  As a matter of fact, by the time I figure out that I need something, Brunhilde has likely gotten it for me.

I always look better in the shirts she picks out and as a matter of fact, if I picked out all my own clothes I would, in fact, look like a rodeo clown.

So what did she proudly present me with this time?  Drum roll, please . . .  A BATTERY OPERATED MINI-CLIPPER FOR NASAL HAIR AND HAIR GROWING OUT OF MY EARS!!!!!!!

She obviously thought that I would be delighted.  That’s the male equivalent of giving your wife a Black & Decker Reciprocating Saw for your anniversary.  If anything says romance – a nasal hair trimmer – doesn’t.

Now think about this folks . . . . . is there ANYPLACE on the body where I need or want hair less than those two places?  It only serves to confirm my belief that God and Mother Nature not only have a sense of humor – they are a couple of practical jokers!

The only place on my body that I have always wanted to have a thick stand of hair is my head.  Instead, I have hair on my legs, on my chest, on my shoulder blades, on my belly, and all over my face.  The hair I want on my head seems to have gone south – maybe to find a new home in my ears.

I have become so conscious of this new obsession in my life that I check out the ears of unsuspecting people that I meet in check-out lines.  A lush stand of ear hair is every bit as attractive as shaving the side of your head and carving a swastika there with a dull lawn mower blade.

I can’t wait for the next little surprise that my aging body will thrust upon me.

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