Jun 13, 2022 3 min read

I twisted the wrong way. In an attempt to grab the mail without going outside in the pouring rain, I maneuvered myself into a spasm-inducing shape. The pain was immediate. I dropped the Shop ‘n Save flyer and grabbed my rib cage. A superlative string of PG-13 words escaped my gaping maw. The searing pain lasted only a few minutes, but the repercussions have had a long-lasting effect.

I might – with a strong emphasis on might – be getting older.

Nothing says, “goodbye youth” faster than injuring yourself grabbing coupons from the mailbox. Obviously, my teenage years are behind me. Way behind me. But I wasn’t ready to board the train to Old Town. The conductor, however, is standing by, waiting.

“All aboard! Next stop … Willoughby.”

Say goodbye to midnight movies and dancing till dawn, and hello midday naps and jigsaw puzzles.

Side note: I hate jigsaw puzzles. There is no earthly reason to take a perfectly good picture and cut it up into a thousand pieces and expect me to put it back together for you. I feel like I’m cleaning up after the artist. It’s like playing 52 Pickup with Thomas Kincade.

But I digress, like I do. It’s time to acknowledge that I am not getting any younger. In retrospect, no one is, except Benjamin Button.

Olly olly oxen free! Ready or not, here comes the Age Train.

Here are some other clues that I’m getting older. Much like a Gremlin, I can’t drink anything after midnight. Unlike Gizmo, I don’t spawn horrid little monsters, but I am forced to leave my comfy bed and stumble to the bathroom at 3 a.m.

I can’t bend down without grunting; an involuntary noise just rises out of me. The other day I ran the vacuum over this one stubborn piece of lint, but it wouldn’t budge. I had to bend down and pick it up like a chump. As I bent down, the dad noise came out.

Also, I yawn in the middle of the day, like a lion at the zoo.

Quick fact: A lion’s roar can carry for more than five miles. I’m not as noisy or as dangerous.

Last weekend, I was chasing after my 2-year-old nephew at the playground. We were on the swings. Then, the slide. Then, back to the swing set. We marched down the hill to watch the big kids play soccer, then we marched back up. Sometimes, he just ran in circles. I followed. The only thing he didn’t want to do is sit down for five minutes.

After 40 minutes, that’s all I wanted to do. Instead, we played for four hours.

When I returned the kid to his parents, I plopped down on the sofa. It wasn’t easy getting up from that spot. I’d probably still be there if I didn’t have to go back to the bathroom.

Since there is only one alternative to aging (I’ll give you three guesses), I chose to get older. I just don’t plan on aging gracefully.