The Literal Ticking of a Biological Clock

I’ve recently been catching myself getting older. It is an odd thing to witness. I’m not talking about waking up in the morning to find a new wrinkle, or that another acre of hair has gone missing from my head. I’m talking about the cheesy notion of, “I’m Turning Into My Dad!” I’m comfortable taking on more responsibility in my life, settling into a career and have even started to think about what it would be like to be a father. Who wouldn’t like to have a 401K and a little person to mow the lawn/perfect match for a new liver when mine craps out from the stress of having to provide for said lawn mower? Those are all aspects of growing up and maturing that I find to be comforting, and a clear indicator that I do not have terminal Peter Pan Syndrome. I’m talking about the moments when you suddenly are snapped out of your pseudo-hip reality and catch yourself yelling at a speeding car in your neighborhood. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve started to do this while I’m walking our dogs. I jump out of the road holding the dogs tightly and scream, “Where’s the fire as**ole!!!” It’s in those moments that I hope I am invisible. Because there is nothing more sad/funny than bald man in flannel pajama pants, holding two dogs while wearing flip-flops and yelling at some redneck in a pick-up truck. I of course wouldn’t know what to do if said redneck were to stop and challenge my opinion. Well, of course I know what I’d do…I’d run.

But there are something that I just thought wouldn’t happen to me. I thought that I had trained my body well enough to not go through certain things. That of course is sadly just not true. Last week I farted in bed and woke Lindsay and myself up. Do you know how soul-crushing that is? It’s also really embarrassing. The noise erupted from my hind-quarters and then next thing I know I was sitting up straight, confused and asking, “What? I’m sorry. What happened? There might be someone trying to break in sweetheart!” I of course knew what happened, which made it even sadder when Lindsay judgingly asked, “Did you just fart so loud that it woke both of us up?” I laughed and bore witness against myself. I would have pleaded the 5th but we could smell the truth.

Here are some other signs that I might be turning into an old man: I really want to drive across the country in an RV, I’d love to have my pilot’s license, I drive a 1993 Lincoln Towncar (not a joke at all unfortunately), I need to start taking a multivitamin, I get heartburn frequently, I enjoy just driving through the mountains, I like scotch (scotch, scotch, scotch), I wish I could play golf more, I’m starting to think about my stock portfolio, and I’m thinking about smoking cigars.

Well, if getting old is anything like being an alcoholic, the first step is admitting I have a problem. I don’t know what the second step is because I’m not a quitter. So, I guess I’ll drink to getting older. It’ll be expensive but at least I’ll have rock solid alibi the next time I fart and wake myself up in the middle of the night. “I’m sorry baby, that’s literally the booze talking.”