I can tell I am getting older by a number of things and here are some of the best of them:
I can tell I am getting older when I notice all the new and trendy things going on around me and realize that these same things were new and trendy when I was a teen-ager decades ago.
Yeah! Yeah! Whenever I suddenly sneeze violently and wake up the next morning discovering that I cannot turn my head because of the pain in my neck and this goes on for at least three days.
I can tell that I have joined the old fart club when it suddenly dawns on me that I am watching the evening news and actually liking it.
Another evidence that I am trapped by advancing age is when I get tired and start thinking about going to bed and discover that the only reason I am planning to go to bed is to sleep… alone … hanky-panky never enters my mind anymore … bed is exclusively for sleep and for dying these days.
One of the most uncomfortable signs of my elderliness is that when I go to a store or stand in a crowd, nobody seems to know that I am there. Little old ladies used to pat me on the head and call me “Sweetie.” If I approach an elderly lady these days, she clutches her purse more tightly and begins to slowly back away looking for an escape route.
“Babes” used to writhe and contort seductively when they saw me. Now that I am old, they treat me like I was a small child. The days of writing and contorting are over it appears.
I know I am old now because my woody changed from solid oak to pithy balsa.
I know I am old when this surly high school kid tells me, “Get back on the sidewalk for me, please.” and I find out that he is a 38-year-old policeman.
I know that I am really old when it dawns on me that the cute little tyke that I used to change diapers for is now my 50-year-old son.
How about when a bunch of young people are talking and I can barely understand a damn thing they are saying. I can hear them alright but it seems to me like they are speaking a form of English language that I never heard before.
Watching the Golden Globe awards or the Academy Awards programs and realizing that I do not know even one of the celebrities taking part in them.
When men and women in their late 40s and 50s start opening doors for me and calling me “Sir.”
I know I am old when the woman barber that I adore asks me if I want my eyebrows, ear hairs and nose hairs trimmed.
I know I am old when I start looking through my photo albums or look in a mirror.