How do you know when you’re old? None of my peers seem to know they’re old. Even after they see their wrinkles and gray hair, whine about arthritic pain, and celebrate another monumental birthday, all I ever hear them say is, “I’m getting old.” They don’t get the connection between those old age signs and actually being old.
Watching friends succumb to the ravages of age is a painful reminder of how old I am, so I’ve latched on to younger friends, in their 40s and 50s. They welcome me into their group because hanging around with me makes them feel younger, at a time when they’re just beginning to notice their own signs of aging.
You know you’re old when you receive a letter from your insurance company saying it may be time to assign someone to be in charge of paying your monthly premiums. Or, when your bank sends you a notice that includes a picture of two old fogeys sitting in Adirondack chairs on the beach. The caption reads, “Enjoy your retirement.” I would have found it more uplifting if the couple was surfboarding.
You’re old when you get a phone call from a robot extolling the value of purchasing a Medical Alert bracelet for when you’ve fallen and you can’t get up.
You’re old when you bring your daughter to the doctor’s office so she can fill out all nine pages of medical questions about you, while you sit staring at the wall.
You know you’re old when, in a restaurant, the person you’re dining with has to read you the entire menu and explain what each dish is.
I was preparing to leave the hair dresser when there was a cloudburst. I stood in the doorway deciding how to stay dry en route to my car when a man wearing thin, gray, satiny jogging pants walked out of the adjacent Chinese restaurant. As he sauntered across the parking lot to his car, the rain pelted down on him, and I had the privilege of seeing a perfect outline of his Fruit of the Looms, which clung to his drenched jogging pants and legs. I don’t know if he realized what was happening but, I suspect, given his white hair, stooped demeanor and walker, that he was moving as fast as he could and didn’t really care what I could see. Another example of being old.
Memory loss is another sign that you’re old.
Having a home office is a blessing. I can show up at my desk in varying degrees of dress, or undress, and I don’t have to wait for Casual Friday to do it. This particular morning I showed up at my desk wearing nothing more than underpants. I had intended to turn on my computer, then run back to my room and get dressed. But, one thing led to another and before I realized it I was typing.
There I sat with my “girls” comfortably resting on my thighs, when I looked up and saw a man on a ladder, peering into my second floor office. I had forgotten that a window washer was scheduled to come. After a reasonable amount of screaming I grabbed a three-ring binder, opened it up, placed it in front of me and shouted, “Don’t look! Don’t look!” I’m pretty sure that seeing a naked 75-year-old woman wasn’t how he planned to start his day, and may well have sent him into therapy.
And let’s not forget absentmindedness; a sure sign that you’re old.
I waited in the car while Mighty Marc visited the Verizon store. He was only gone five minutes. When he returned I asked, “What did you do in there?”
“I told you I was going to have them remove my contacts from my old cell phone.”
“Oh, I was curious because your fly is open.”
He looked down and turned red.
Fact is, we had left the house only 15 minutes earlier and driven directly to Verizon, which meant he had entered the store that way. When our laughter subsided he said, “Actually, I don’t think I’ll ever zip my fly again. I spend two-thirds of most days peeing. Not having to hassle with a zipper will save a lot of time.”
If you relate to any of these revealing signs, I hate to be the one to say it but, “You’re old!”
Laverne's book, "How The (Bleep) Did I Get This Old?" is available at amazon.com and other online bookstores. Website: www.lavernebardy.com - E-mail her at: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.