I've been feeling a little old lately. I don't know why. Could be because I went to the doctor and he told me I looked great but added that my "body-mass index" indicates that I could stand to lose 10-15 pounds. That's a nice way of saying, "You are fat." Still in my paper gown, I texted my wife with this news, hoping she would say, "Pish!" She texted back, "It's hell getting old."
But it's been coming on for years. Every day I find myself telling my friends about things—eat breakfast, excercise, nap—that I do every day. Without my Walgreens reading glasses, I have the same chance of making out the dose chart on the Children's Tylenol bottle as Hellen Keller. If I had to list my ten greatest pleasures in life, two of them would be, chopping onions and reading the newspaper. Word association: McDonalds—cholesterol!
That's why my delight was so outsized last Sunday morning when I rounded the corner I heard my single-woman neighbor with dog, Jennifer, tell my other S-WNWD, Sharon, "Look at him! He doesn't even have pants on!"
I was in shorts on that cold morning for a very boring reason—I had aborted a morning jog and decided to zip around the corner to Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and a paper—but the tone of Jennifer's gripe indicated that the bareness of my legs was only the finishing touch of a comprehensive litany of irresponsible behavior of which she was keeping track.
Jennifer doesn't actually know me too well. So I reckon it's Sharon, who actually lives in my building, who has been mostly contributing to the inventory. Sharon, who holds an annual "pink party" and dresses her dog in a coat and little rubber booties, has seen me tipsy a couple of times, I suppose. One recent morning, she saw me wrapped in a blanket, barefoot on my snowy balcony, croaking at Scout to hurry up walking the dog. More than once she has probably overheard me call the dog a "cocksucker." And of course she knows I ride a motorcycle, something that responsible parents, in her spotless mind, just don't do. "You must be so scared," she told Cristie shortly after I bought the machine. (Thanks, Bitch.)
To Sharon and Jennifer, I am Hunter S. Thompson, Jim Morrison and Lindsay Lohan all wrapped up in one.
You know what? I love these dames. They make me feel young again.