Your body steadily quits on you. Have you thought about it in those terms? If you haven’t until now, you’re welcome. The chance of your body’s ultimate failure is 100%, baby.
As much neglect as I have subjected mine to, I’m thankful to have inflicted as little apparent damage on it as I have. Here are a few thoughts I have today on the state of my earthly vessel:
- So far, I haven’t the slightest solidarity with men who are prescribed Viagra or Cialis. I am so thankful for this.
- On that note, I have much appreciated that as my age has advanced, my taste in women has done the same. Most truly young women in my life I regard with either ambivalence or vague paternalism. The subjects of the prurient movies in my head are all within 10-15% of my age. My practical self is good with that and hopes it continues.
- Concentrated ethanolic overindulgence over the course of a single evening hurts approximately 400% longer than it used to. Two days, not half a day, before I’ve fully recovered. This is a powerful incentive for moderation.
- Not much hurts for no reason yet. I am thankful for that. I had what I thought was a touch of plantar fasciitis for a while, but it seems to be resolved.
- My feet are considerably uglier than they were 20 years ago. I had hoped a daily multivitamin would do more for this than it has. Oh well.
- I keep a beard not necessarily because I like the way it looks, but because I like shaving less often. A side benefit has been that it visually slims my face a bit. But now, there’s enough gray in my beard to give me pause. Fat, or gray? Maybe I should just lose the damned weight.
- On that note, when I was 17 years old, I could bowl until 10:30 or 11 pm, then go to the Dairy Queen on Max Luther and eat two footlong all-the-way dogs (that’s chili, slaw, and cheese) and either a banana split or a Peanut Buster Parfait for dessert. I could be flat on my back asleep less than an hour later. That would send me to the ER today.
Within reason, live your life. They all end badly.
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A wee bit morbid today, aren’t we?
I mean, I fully understand that I have a 100% chance of dropping dead at some point in the next forty years, but why obsess?
Everything in moderation, and get through each day. I figure if I wake up in the morning, I’m ahead of the game.
(Jeesh — me spinning optimistic. Is the world coming to an end?)
Hey, I start on a sunshiney note! 🙂
I thank God every single day that The Gent is a very healthy 51-year old man. 😉
Love it, Carol. 🙂
It’s just never been that far from my mind since age 12 or so, and I’ve never been able to relate to such things not, um, working for me.
May such continue for the rest of my life.
“Fat, or gray?”
You almost had me in tears with that. You might be able to hide the double chin or the moon pie face, but there is no hiding the rest of you. I speak with authority on that matter.
Indeed, sir, indeed. Hey Bo–it’s the FAT that makes you look fat. 🙂