Thread: On Turning Sixty

Although it’s brought me that much closer to transforming into worm food, I’ve found that turning sixty is not without its compensations.

While it’s true, for example, that my member isn’t getting a proper supply of blood anymore—and that I can no longer write my name in the sand and must settle for my initials—I can still have lots of fun with it. Thanks to an ever-enlarging prostate gland that’s threatening to devour my bladder, my urine stream now bifurcates at the exit point. This means that I can whiz into the toilet and the adjacent bathtub at the same time—which is a kick. My urologist says that while he can make no promises, there’s a good chance that in the not too distant future I’ll be capable of TRIfurcating. This will enable me to whiz into the toilet, the bathtub AND the laundry basket simultaneously.

I can’t wait.

And by making it possible to legitimately deflect questions that have always rankled the hell out of me (“Isn’t it time you threw out those Smurf jars with the petrified flecks of premixed peanut butter ‘n’ jelly down toward the bottom?” is a persistent one that never fails to put me in a homicidal rage), my newly developed hearing loss has a terrific upside as well. Not, to be sure, that its downside isn’t just as major. I mean, how many invitations to lunch have I blown? How many people have said, “Let me buy you lunch,” and I’ve said in reply, “But we still don’t have bin Laden.”? (As thorny as this problem is, I’ve managed to ease it somewhat by saying, maybe a dozen times a morning to people who appear to be talking to me, “Thanks, I’d love to.” Though probably several hundred of them have walked away from me very quickly—and two, I guess they had their reasons, punched me in the stomach—I’ve gotten six lunches doing this that I would otherwise have missed out on. Not to mention a free ticket to a WAYNE NEWTON concert!)

But if the benefits and drawbacks of my hearing impairment more or less cancel out each other, the short-term memory loss that’s accompanied my sexagenarianism has a plus side that actually outweighs its minus side. I’m speaking, of course, of the guarantee it can afford me that a movie I’m going to will be a good one. I’ll notice, for instance, an ad for a movie and tell a friend about it. The friend will advise me that I saw the movie just a week ago. I’ll ask him if I liked it and if he says, “Yeah, you couldn’t stop talking about it,” I’ll think, hey, how often does a movie come with THAT kind of recommendation and I’ll go immediately to see it. I’m told that I’ve seen “Pearl Harbor” eight times now.

(I might add here that being strictly of the short-term variety, my memory loss in no way affects my ability to remember the last time I got laid.)

But of the many compensatory rewards that turning sixty provides (and you’ll agree they are not inconsiderable) there’s one that I value above all others. Although I can still croak at a relatively early age I’ve been spared the embarrassment of a TRAGICALLY early demise.

lol *claps* bravo! thoroughly enjoyed your writing, i'm glad you're still with us

Oh, man, you haven’t lived.

Wait until you can whiz in your sock. Well, more dribble than whiz, but you get my drift.

Then there’s itchy eyes, and dry mouth, and scaly skin, and horny toe-nails, and permanent tennis elbow, and ear hair, and inability to swallow dry food, and gravity acting on your waistline, and erratic peristalsis - oh, boy, you’re really going to enjoy that one - and incontinence, and someone beating a drum somewhere out there at 2 a.m., and . . . .

Look, you’re just a spring chicken. Come back when you’re in your seventies and give us a progress report.

Originally Posted by The Backward OX

Oh, man, you haven’t lived.

Wait until you can whiz in your sock. Well, more dribble than whiz, but you get my drift.

Then there’s itchy eyes, and dry mouth, and scaly skin, and horny toe-nails, and permanent tennis elbow, and ear hair, and inability to swallow dry food, and gravity acting on your waistline, and erratic peristalsis - oh, boy, you’re really going to enjoy that one - and incontinence, and someone beating a drum somewhere out there at 2 a.m., and . . . .

Look, you’re just a spring chicken. Come back when you’re in your seventies and give us a progress report.

Dear God, please see to it I die long before 70!

All I can say is: 'Man, you ain't seen nothing yet'. The 70th birthday is one which for some reason all of your friends - if you have any - and your relatives , if any are still alive, want to celebrate. You will look at them and say: 'why should I celebrate being this old?' and maybe one of your wiser friends will reply: 'because you aren't dead'. As for your prostate - well from now on realize everytime you go to see a doctor he, or occasionally she, is going to put on a pair of rubber gloves and inspect what you do not want inspected. And sex - you actually remember when last you got laid. That is an acheivement. By the time you are 70, you will be asking yourself when was it you wanted to get laid.

Welcome to the fourth age - it really does have some advantages. You can be a grumpy old man and everyone will excuse you by saying : 'It's his age'.

Oh, I forgot to mention that to be seventy you have to survive another ten years.

Robert, that was absolutely charming writing! A very fun read, and I wouldn't mind reading more if you have it in you!

"and that I can no longer write my name in the sand and must settle for my initials"

Hell, I'm there already at age 29!!!

"the short-term memory loss that’s accompanied my sexagenarianism has a plus side that actually outweighs its minus side"

Well, I'm glad.

"I mean, how many invitations to lunch have I blown? How many people have said, “Let me buy you lunch,” and I’ve said in reply, “But we still don’t have bin Laden.”?"

Err, what?

Are you connecting your own age to the capture of Bin Laden?

"Although I can still croak at a relatively early age I’ve been spared the embarrassment of a TRAGICALLY early demise."

Well shit, a tragically early demise. We all die at some point.

Dude, you're entirely engrossed in your own death. Why? Hell, we all die at some point. Tell me what it is like to LIVE.