My husband and I are both turning 60 next year, that magical age when all things are supposed to come together.
You have great sex because Mom has gone through menopause and Dad is taking Viagra. You can finally take that trip you've put off because the dogs are all dead, and the kids are on their own. And your life becomes a series of bridge and golf games, endless parties, and trips to the gym.
It's like Dick Van Dyke meets the Biggest Loser meets the speciality channels.
I am lucky because I am 59 and I am not on any medication whatsoever. The doctor tried to put me on high blood pressure pills until I outsmarted him by purchasing a blood pressure cuff. I actually have low blood pressure! I go to the gym regularly, and I eat properly and still manage to get in a few glasses of red with no ill effects (cross your legs, fingers and toes). And I have perfect 20-20 long distance vision thanks to Dr. Myles and his five second cataract cure.
Scott has a few more issues but he's pretty good, all in all, for his age.
The trouble is that the wisdom cited above is dispensed by advertisers. Viagra is a curse, in my humble opinion, because after a woman finally gets through menopause, the last thing she wants on top of her is a crinkly old dude with no control over his flatulence. Viagra meets a woman at the exact wrong time in her life cycle.
And not all the guys are up for Viagra, either.
I had a horny toad friend named Betty who was constantly after her husband to get some pills and make her day. The first time Bill tried one, he took it before he had a bacon sandwich and promptly went to sleep. Betty found him snoring on the couch, his pants poking out like Pinocchio, and she hauled him off to have her way with him. As for Bill, he probably preferred the bacon sandwich.
On the second subject, if the dog is dead, you will truly want to get another one. At 60, you will probably outlive at least one more dog, if not two, and they will take up a lot of your time because you are not having all that Viagra laced sex, yo.
On the third subject, which entails endless golf and bridge games, that's only for rich folk. Golf is too expensive, and it's become too popular, not like when I played it in the 70s. Today, it's like going to the Chinese buffet. You wait, you wait, and you wait some more. Golf is especially not that interesting now that drinking and driving has become a non-starter. Winding your way back from the country with a snootful of beer in your gullet can get you thrown in jail, put in the ditch or something even worse. People still do it, but they shouldn't.
Sober golf sucks. It's like waiting to get your driver's licence at the MOT.
Bridge, what is bridge, anyway? I think it's a drinking game so unless you live in one of those gated communities, you don't play bridge. We do play dominoes in our backyard but we only have to wind our way up the stairs after a particularly nasty hand.
The trouble with old age is it sneaks up on you. You find that you have to wear mid-vision glasses to read the computer screen, you can't learn Windows 10 even if you are a computer whiz. And you find yourself being held at the mercy of Angry Birds.
Forget FaceTime. Have you seen my hair lately?
While I'm on the subject, when did hair cuts start to cost so much? I spent years cutting my own hair. It took two snips. The last time I went to the hairdresser, who didn't give me the greatest cut, it cost my $75 with tip. I didn't even get a dye job!
No wonder so many women are going grey.
I've also found that taking trips, even short ones, becomes a bit of a problem. I have to make sure I don't eat or drink anything before I get in the car, because I'll either have to stop to pee or something else. After breakfast, you never know what you're going to get.
Then there's the whole weigh issue. Women who are too thin become all wrinkly. If you do lose weight, people look at you sadly and ask when you expect your hair to fall out.
Me, I just can't lose a single pound.
I spend twenty minutes at the gym, drink smoothies, eat delicious soups, shun bread, pass on the butter, and don't drink a single soda, and my weight stays the same.
When I try to diet, my gallbladder wakes up and writhes around like a Transformer, crying out, "I need fat, I need wine."
So I just eat what I want.
Recently, I spent six weeks not going to the gym, and eating a weekly diet of new potatoes and corn, and I found that it didn't matter in the slightest. My weight was exactly the same as it was any week when I exercised every day.
I suppose the reality is that we're supposed to just sit back, watch daytime television, and forget about trying new things. As they say on that Acorn Stairlift commercial, sit back, relax.
I'm not giving up, not yet. I'm going to try to enjoy my golden years the same way I enjoyed my other years -- staying away from doctors.
It's the best I have to hope for.
That and a bigger computer screen.
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