Old Coot, Yes Me

One of the questions that I'm constantly asked is what it's like to be so old.

It's not that people come out and just say it. They beat around the bush. They hem and they haw. They make it like an idiot when all they have to do is say, "So, old man. What's it like?"

I'll tell you what it's like: it's getting up three times a night to trickle some pee into the toilet.

It's getting heart burn when you drink water.

It's having a beer and falling down.

It's thinking about your sex life and not really remembering it.

It's having stupid jackasses asking you what it's like to be old.

There's some upside though:

I scream at pigeons and no one's the wiser for it. They just see an old coot being cootish.

I pretend to fall asleep when I don't want to listen to what people are saying.

I say random, obnoxious things just to see how people react. And they don't react. It's amazing. They just think there's an old coot being an old coot and they let the most ridiculous things pass by.

I told a young woman she had beautiful breasts the other day. I expected something. A slap maybe. Instead, she looked at me, stammered a bit, flushed a bit red and muttered something between, "thanks" and "see ya later, ya nasty dodger."

My health is good. My mind is good. I'm not too quick on my feet though. And I appear a little brittle. But I've come across some powders and dusts in my travels and expect to live for another good long time. I may be pushing 100 but I think 115 or 120 isn't out of the question.

More on all that another day.