I don’t mean when the government or your employer tells you that you are, by reminding you that you now qualify for retirement benefits that will never be enough for you to live on. Nor is it when AARP (American Association of Retired Persons) starts sending you solicitations for membership — because they start that crap when you turn 50, which (trust me) isn’t old. And it’s not when you have to take a special eye test to get your driver’s license renewed.

No, it’s none of those “official” milestones. Aging is different for each individual, of course. But there are many signs that you’re perilously close to becoming a senior citizen, or an octogenarian, if only you know what they are . . . and have the guts to face up to them. For example:

Remember when your dentist hinted that you might want to consider whitening your teeth? How old were you then — 40? 45? Uh-huh. That might have been a sign.

And when you discovered that those expensive body lotions and creams were sinking into your skin with an audible “slurp” but no longer keeping you moist and velvety?

Or when your beautician or barber began pulling a handful of hair out of the brush after using it on you, and you heard their quiet “Oh-oh”?

Remember the first time the kid behind the ticket counter in the movie box office assumed you qualified for a senior ticket? Didn’t you just want to smack him, even though he was right?

All signs. But just little ones. They became more noticeable over time, like when you couldn’t make it up the hill from your house without stopping halfway to catch your breath. Or the first time you grunted when you pushed yourself out of the easy chair.

Has your partner — or your next-door neighbor — begun complaining about your snoring? Good luck with that one!

Do people get annoyed when they have to repeat everything because you keep telling them they’re mumbling when they’re not? Well, that’s tough. If they don’t like it, let them pay for the hearing aids, because Medicare won’t.

And wait until the first time your bladder wakes you — or, worse, doesn’t wake you — in the middle of the night. You will never have an uninterrupted night’s sleep after that for the rest of your life.

But that’s okay, because you have to get up anyway, for another shot of Pepto Bismol after daring to have a slice of pizza for dinner.

By the way, it won’t be long after that when even mashed potatoes have the same effect. Welcome to the wonderful world of not eating much of anything.

Oh, and this would be a good time to start practicing tightening those butt cheeks, because the gas from the pizza — or even the mashed potatoes — will escape at the most inopportune times. Of course, if it can’t come out that way, it will likely find another exit, in the form of a very satisfying belch that you might not be able to stifle in time. Either way, I recommend looking innocently around the room as if trying to identify the culprit. It only works occasionally, but it’s worth a try. Otherwise, just laugh it off; everyone else will be.

Do your bottles of prescription medicines now outnumber the real teeth you have left in your mouth? If so, you’re well on your way, baby.

Oh, by the way, about that waistline . . . where did that go? And when? Well, it expanded, and it’s now hiding behind those boobs that no longer look proudly forward when you stand up. (And that goes for you men, too, you know.)

Shall we talk about the feet now? You probably never even heard of toenail fungus until a couple of years ago! But don’t despair; there’s stuff to treat that, too.

And let’s see . . . there are those prominent veins on your hands . . . the chicken neck . . . a bunch of little brown spots where you never had freckles before, and . . .

Ah, forget it! The list is too long. I’ve come to the conclusion that trying to battle the inevitable will only lead to clinical depression, which is the last thing you need. So try to overlook your aching back, your reflux, and your cataracts, and be grateful for the fact that you still have your mental . . . your mental . . . your . . .

Oh, damn! What was that word again?

Ah, fuck it!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
8/22/24

Wait a second . . . Acuity! That’s the word!