WHAT'S IT LIKE GROWING OLD, PART 1 OF 3

OLD FOGY SYNDROMES, ANTIDOTES & ANECDOTES

I never thought, felt, or even imagined I would grow old or become a slow-stepping, droopy-pants, absentminded, old fogy, but here I are. I guess I figured I would go on as I was until one day I would just keel over and take the eternal dirt nap. Such is the blindness of youth. Now, as my seventy-second birthday approaches at the speed of light, symptoms of old age wear on me. When they first started, I was reluctant to admit or accept these characteristic traits indicative of an elderly person. I’m not ready for this. There are still many mountains out there I plan to conquer and I don’t want to take an entourage of aids to attend to my old-person ailments.

One of the signs associated with a man growing old is when he unknowingly walks around with his fly open. This one frustrates me more than all the others.  It’s embarrassing. “Are you trolling?” is what we used to ask of a shipmate to let him know his fly was open, back, a couple hundred years ago, when I served in the Navy.  It makes me wonder. Do people think I’m searching for a sex partner? Do they think I’m a pervert seeking an opportunity to shock someone. How could I forget to zip up? The worst part is, not discovering it until I’m in a crowd, or worse, alone with a female friend. How does one covertly recover from this predicament?

OTHER DRESS INFRACTIONS, OR YOUR MAMA DRESSES YOU FUNNY, BOY

A shirt button in the wrong hole, a collar tucked under, a shirt tail hanging out, going to Wal-Mart in my slippers, well, maybe that one is not so much a sign of old age as it is a sign of sloppiness, or fitting in with the crowd,  wearing mismatched socks; fortunately, this one never happens to me. Here’s a cure.

Long ago, I developed the habit of pinning my socks together with a safety pin as a time saving solution while doing my laundry. I hated sorting socks or rummaging through my socks drawer to find a sock’s mate. And too, if you have many pairs of socks the same color, which I do, because it eliminates a lot of decision making, and it ensures the pair wear out together. Doesn’t that paint a touching picture; Mr. and Mrs. Sock meet their demise at the same time?

I wish this simple safety-pin fix could be applied to some of my other difficulties. I have calculated, that over the years, I have saved thousands of hours using this safety pin fix. Now I waste those hours searching for lost words.

THE OPEN-FLY SYNDROME, SHAME ON YOU