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.