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Ripening Faster Than A Week-old Avocado
by George Beckerman

How can I tell? Well, I went into the kitchen to get something, and not only did I forget what it was, I was in the wrong kitchen. So I apologized to my neighbor and went home.
And it’s not just the memory. Hairlines recede more rapidly than the Colorado River. Trips to the bathroom far outnumber trips to the foul line.  That of course would be if I was still playing basketball.  Or jogging, skiing and tennis. My anatomy has rebelled against those activities. Couple more years and my calorie-burning will be limited to putting on my socks and shoes.
Let’s not even get into the hourly need to empty my bladder.  Especially when I’m away from home.  Whenever I confront a urinal and start my usual senior trickle, someone inevitably enters the restroom, pulls up alongside and immediately hits the back of the porcelain with the force of a firehose (I miss those days) And he’s zipped up and gone before I could wish him well. And me, I’m still dribbling like Jerry West, oops, too dated, I mean Stephan Curry.
My dermatologist, however, had good news for me. Those blemishes on my arm are not melanoma. They’re age spots. I guess that’s what passes for positivity at this juncture of life. I shrugged it off and jumped next door to my ophthalmologist where I barely made it to the fourth line of the eye chart. One prescription change later, I was ready for lunch with my buddy Ben. Or bff according to this suddenly acronym-crazy universe.
Of course the current topic of conversation these days, regardless of generation is “Seen anything good on tv lately?” I confidently replied that I really loved that show with what’shisname? And the actor what’shername did a fabulous job. When Ben asked me what network it was on, we spent the rest of the meal trying to figure out how to use Google. It was good seeing Ben and I told him to send regards to what’shername, a.k.a, his wife.  
I was happy to make it home to my wife what’shername for an afternoon of uninterrupted sex. Yeah, right.  Since we’re both asleep before the ten o’clock news, even though we’ve napped before the six o’clock news, if we made love, we’d have to do it before the Today Show. Sometimes you’re so tired you think “Thank God the weekend is coming up.”, then realize that it’s only Monday.
It’s a bit depressing when your phone contact list is filled with ologists and you’re older than most of their fathers.  And I don’t know how I got to the point of yelling at people in their fifties to get off my lawn.  But every so often you find something to be grateful for. This morning I was thrilled to discover a brown hair on the shower floor.  Then my neighbor told me that he gave his dog a bath last night. So I toweled off, apologized and went home. Easy come, easy go.
I guess the moral is, don’t talk about your age, don’t even think about your age. Ignore it.  “Whatever’s happening in my arteries, stays in my arteries”.