I think I’m getting older. No, not old age older but things are starting to take on a more senior disposition than, oh let’s say 2 or 3 months ago.
I noticed it while sitting at a stop sign waiting to make a left turn. And waiting, and waiting, and waiting some more. It was but a couple of months ago that I would have edged my way in as long as I had a one or two car length head start on that truck barreling through the intersection. And even though I came to complete stops, signaled for turns, and stayed right except to pass, I was decidedly brusque in my driving.
What I was driving is another sign of the years creeping up on me. After 30 years of trucks and SUVs I have made my primary ride a mid-size, American sedan. In dark blue even. What’s next, a full-sized Cadillac registered in Florida?
I stopped for breakfast at a nearby diner. The waitress took orders from the trio sitting at a nearby table. “I’ll put that right in,” she said and turned to the nearby kitchen door and delivered the order to the probably nearby cook. I know she was being polite and efficient but did she really need to tell the table that she would be putting their order in immediately? It was breakfast. Nobody was having cocktails or appetizers. If not “right in” when would she place the order? After the lunch rush? It was just a little thing but I ruminated on that for the rest of my eggs. Now that’s something only an oldster would do.
But what really concerns me about the impending golden years are my pants. These are the same pants I’ve worn for the past several weight changes. They are worn in the same manner – put on one leg at a time and pulled to my waist where they are secured with a belt. Just like everyone else. They look just fine standing up. But when I sat down this morning I felt them creep up my front until the belt was halfway between my shoulders and my waistline. Does this mean it’s only a matter of time until I’ll have to open my fly to scratch my neck? How did that happen? I didn’t buy those pants that way. They betrayed me!
I suppose I should just face it. I’m getting older. Thank Heaven I’m not getting more mature.
That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?