Originally posted on June 1, 2012 on Romance Books 4 Us Blog
The problem with getting old is you don’t have a chance to practice beforehand. It sort of sneaks up on you.
I knew it was time to retire when I updated my resume and all my references were dead. So I retired. Nearly two years ago, when I celebrated (and I use the term loosely) a landmark birthday, I accepted the fact that the handwriting was on the wall. I’m now getting hints that maybe it’s time to become a recluse. Here are some of the first indicators.
▪ You look in the mirror one day and the first thing you say is, “Whoa! Who are you?” The second thing you say is, “Shit, when did this happen?
▪ Even using a 15x magnifying mirror, you can’t tell the difference between a mole, a blackhead, and a leftover piece of breakfast.
▪ When you finish putting on your makeup, your face looks as though you applied the cosmetics and eyeliner with a can of spray paint, and your lips bleed all the way up to your nose.
▪ Everything in your closet looks clean and spotless until you are in the sunlight, with your glasses on, and too far away to go back home to change.
▪ You go to brush a hair off your lapel and discover it’s attached to your chin.
▪ You spend fifty percent of your day looking for your glasses, car keys, or something you had in your hand just a second ago.
▪ You drive up to a curb-side mail box and order a hamburger and French fries.
▪ You drive into the wrong end of the car wash.
▪ The most fun you have all day is blurting out your age and weight just for the shock value.
▪ You develop random non-life-threatening skin growths large enough to name after a deceased pet or relative.
▪ You turn on your left signal in the morning and leave it on all day.
▪ On the operating table, before they put you under, you demand to see the anesthesiologist and surgeon’s photo IDs, just to be sure at least one of them is old enough to drive a car.
□
The problem with getting old is you don’t have a chance to practice beforehand. It sort of sneaks up on you.
I knew it was time to retire when I updated my resume and all my references were dead. So I retired. Nearly two years ago, when I celebrated (and I use the term loosely) a landmark birthday, I accepted the fact that the handwriting was on the wall. I’m now getting hints that maybe it’s time to become a recluse. Here are some of the first indicators.
▪ You look in the mirror one day and the first thing you say is, “Whoa! Who are you?” The second thing you say is, “Shit, when did this happen?
▪ Even using a 15x magnifying mirror, you can’t tell the difference between a mole, a blackhead, and a leftover piece of breakfast.
▪ When you finish putting on your makeup, your face looks as though you applied the cosmetics and eyeliner with a can of spray paint, and your lips bleed all the way up to your nose.
▪ Everything in your closet looks clean and spotless until you are in the sunlight, with your glasses on, and too far away to go back home to change.
▪ You go to brush a hair off your lapel and discover it’s attached to your chin.
▪ You spend fifty percent of your day looking for your glasses, car keys, or something you had in your hand just a second ago.
▪ You drive up to a curb-side mail box and order a hamburger and French fries.
▪ You drive into the wrong end of the car wash.
▪ The most fun you have all day is blurting out your age and weight just for the shock value.
▪ You develop random non-life-threatening skin growths large enough to name after a deceased pet or relative.
▪ You turn on your left signal in the morning and leave it on all day.
▪ On the operating table, before they put you under, you demand to see the anesthesiologist and surgeon’s photo IDs, just to be sure at least one of them is old enough to drive a car.
□
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