It’s time to retire. Not just retire, but buy some plaid pants that come up to my armpits, learn to play shufffleboard, and memorize the schedule for the Early Bird Special at every restaurant within 200 miles. At the age of 59 ½ and counting, I have officially joined the Great American Geezer Club.
How did this happen? The other day, I realized that I really needed to trim my ear hair. EAR HAIR. Even worse, I had to take a few hacks at my nose hair – especially because, much to my chagrin, this particular hair-zone has turned white.
I plead guilty to letting the aforementioned thatches get a bit long. Like a lot of pre-metrosexual males, I don’t pay much attention to the finer details of my appearance (like whether I’m wearing a screaming purple shirt with red pants). This is compounded by doing most of my grooming when I’ve just crawled out of bed and can’t even see straight. But a thicket around the ‘lobes and graying sprouts from the schnozz? “Decrepitude” is an ugly word, my friends. Be vigilant.
Of course, if you’re permanently decrepit, or in other words “dead,” there’s an exciting new way to bid farewell to our mortal coil. It’s called a “living funeral,” in which the guest of honor is posed in his or her favorite setting or tableau. That’s right; the lady in the picture, sitting at the table with ciggies and booze, has in fact ceased to be, rung down the curtain, and joined the choir invisible. This particular event took place in New Orleans, where strange rituals are a way of life, but it’s happening in other places too.
The possibilities are endless! My wife says they could put me in my recliner in front of our big TV, with a recording of my snoring playing in the background. Or maybe in front of a radio microphone, with coffee about to spill all over the wires and a soundtrack from my all -night easy-listening days or the Voice of America, where I worked later on.
Better yet: standing upright in swimming trunks in the Gulf of Mexico! That’d take care of all those obnoxious tourists! (Actually, I guess the other beachgoers might not care much for that one. Except the sharks.)
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