I‘ve decided I want a mid-life crisis.
I want a nice one.
AND, I want it now!
Men wake up on any given Wednesday morning, start talking like Tony Soprano, adjust their ‘jewels’ and pop Viagra. They shop for a sports car and sign up for stripper pole lessons with a blonde waitress from Hooters. It’s an accepted rite of passage for them. They’re viewed as mature and worldly. I get hot flashes, liver spots and stretch marks on my ear lobes.
I want a sports car. I want to date a blonde – well, not Michele Pfeifer – maybe George Clooney with a light bleach or Antonio Bandares with summer highlights. I want to recline on my kitchen floor, drenched in a cream silk teddy, my ankle grazing the table leg, my arm languishing by the fridge door while eating a fresh strawberry dipped in whipped cream placed on my lips by a guy with…aw, never mind. I need a hormone pill.
With my daydream smashed by the shrill of the washing machine buzzer, I looked over my mail hoping for something to lighten my spirits. Maybe I’d won the HGTV Fantasy Home, free gas for a year or a week at a ritzy spa.
Not so much! My reward was an invitation to join AARP. They were reminding me I would no longer be eligible for a mid-life crisis because I was no longer in mid-life. The card screamed…Old Geezer. The AARP computers found my social security number and initiated this verdict. My new card will reside next to my NRA membership card, concealed carry permit, Triple Star 24-hour Towing and Avis Preferred Customer card, total account accumulation 687 points.
Each time I look at this card it would reconfirm:
* My prime passed on my 30th birthday – time to toss birth control and stock up on hormones.
* Time to slow down and enjoy life – aided by antidepressants, blood pressure meds and a Hoveround.
* Golfing and leisurely lifestyle would be mine – if I invested smartly in the 90’s.
Barring that, I could look forward to sucking on a bilge pump while lounging in my moldy hammock secured between rotting timbers in my dank, barrio basement.
However, to ease the pain of my newly acquired, wretched existence, I now had a 10% discount on everything from Metamucil to a Grand Slam Breakfast. I read this tome carefully and planned on using this 10% windfall and invest in the market. Something growing but stable. Maybe tech stocks or banking or, whoa, Ben & Jerry’s.
Ah, there’s nothing like the smell of butter pecan ice cream in the morning.
…just my thoughts