So, this week, of all weeks, I have a birthday coming up. Funny thing about age. It keeps increasing every year, pushing one to the brink of extinction. I was always taught as a little kid, when people age, they age like wine. So, apparently they have a ton of complex reactions, sugar, acids and taste funny. Funny good of course. I choose to age like milk. That is well past its expiration date. With great age, comes great wisdom. All I got was 4 wisdom teeth, nestled perfectly inside my gums, waiting to pierce certain nerves. Then I grunt with pain, have a surgery and get them out. Nothing wise about that. Get it? Wise, Wisdom, teeth? Eh screw you.
One of the main qualms I have with most of the youth of this generation is the sheer lack of functional literacy in terms of writing a sentence to save their lives. Back in my times, we were rapped on the knuckles for not using punctuation, using improper spelling and all of these in complete legitimate sentences. Everything these young people write is unfiltered, unedited, unintelligible and filled with crazy slang and infuriating abbreviations. Gone are the days when BTW stood for Back To Work, but now abbreviations are the new norm. Seriously people, WTF?
However, the digression is partly due to the fact that my attention span isn’t what it used to be. Neither is my waistline for that matter. I blame that on the advent of my middle age, where my age starts showing around the middle. Also, my tolerance for putting up with bullshit has also reduced significantly along with what used to be a hairline. Now, it just resembles a forehead suffering from gigantism. I have slowly started to learn that the walkman that I use actually has a knob that turns left. Walkman? You know the device that plays audio cassettes? Audio cassettes, which have two sides to it all full of music? Damn kids, with their youtube and Harlem Shakes. During my time, Harlem was famous for a bunch of insanely talented basketball players who used to roll a ball on one finger and dunk the baskets using trampolines. Warned you about the digression, didn’t I, kiddo?
When older people used to ask me to reduce the goddamn volume, I used to retort by saying “If it’s too loud, you’re too old.” And now the negative volume button is pressed as quickly as the speed dial for emergency services such as Pizza or Chinese food. When the waist level on my jeans slowly start encroaching towards my chest, I will have then started the unholy process of aging. I know I have started growing old, because visits to the doctor now are more than an annual “Hello, how do you do?”. It’s started to lean towards:
Me: Doctor, I think I am having a heart attack.
Doctor: Why would you say that? What are the symptoms?
Me: Uhh.. Chest Pain, shooting pain down the left arm, sweating bullets, anxiety!!
Doctor: Ok. Chest pain is because of gas. Excessive potatoes aren’t good for people your age. Shooting pain down the left arm is because your bones are starting to get creaky and you can’t lift heavy grocery bags anymore. Sweating bullets is because you just ran up 5 flights of stairs to my office and you are grossly fat and unfit. Anxiety is because you are a hypochondriac and an idiot.
Doctor: Also, blood tests show super high cholesterol. So, stop shoveling down those potatoes and get some physical activity.
Me: But, watching sports, eating chips and guzzling beers already makes me so tired.
P.S. All the above conversations were completely made up. But it could have happened to somebody, right?
I have started to realize that the older I get, the more I start thinking about life’s responsibilities. Like choosing the right person to marry, how can I best save my money, how to buy a house in a good school district that is good for the kids, etc. And also, where my next dose of fiber is going to come from. You know, so I can comfortably crap out the gluttonous sins of the previous day, and hopefully, some toxins too. On the other hand, my cynical mind tells me, you are going to die anyway. Eat what you can, when you can. Before they start shoving it up your behind, hey i’m old enough to say ass, through a tube.
Yes, thoughts of buying a fast, two seater sports car have crossed my mind. But then reality kicks in and laughs in my chubby, bald face. That’s enough whiskey for today. It’s 9pm. Time to head in to bed. As somebody rightly pointed out, middle age is having a choice between two temptations and choosing the one that’ll get me home sooner.
Get me my armrest and cigar now. And happy 27th birthday to me.