The Pros and Cons Of Being Ancient. パート2

In my last post, I pontificated about the Cons of being ancient. Now It's time for the Pros.
Strange as it may seem, there are good sides to getting old. All I have to do here is to try to remember what the hell they are. To that end, I have just poured a large glass of single malt scotch to assist me in my ruminations. It always seems to work. Thank God for spell check.

The Pros:
Obviously, the first one is the glee of waking up in the morning with a fairly certain notion that I actually made it through the night. Sometimes there is a negative side to that when I check the world news over my first cup of coffee for the day (Enjoying good coffee is another pro.) and read what a crap state the world is in. I blame this on the lazy Millennials and inconsequential Greens for polluting the air we breathe by their existence. I'm old. I don't have use logic or explain my opinions. See? More pros.

Another pro is using the excuse of having a fading memory to avoid doing onerous tasks. You have to love, "Was I supposed to do that? Sorry, I must have forgotten. Old age, you know."

Playing the "Grumpy Old Man" game is a hoot. It's an amazing tool we oldies can use to terrorise young people, make women pushing trolleys or prams in supermarkets move aside, get a seat on public transport, get served quickly almost anywhere and being able to vent our opinion on almost anything without getting beaten up. Sadly, it doesn't work on my wife. I'm still trying to perfect that.

Making other people embarrassed is another goody. Wearing old or mismatched clothes, odd socks, leaving my fly open with my shirt hanging out of it, mumbling to myself in public, just staring at people and loudly farting in public are just a few. All good fun.

So, as you can see, getting old isn't all bad. There are lots of other pros to being ancient but, as I've just emptied my glass of scotch and need to pour another, I probably won't remember to come back and write more drivel.

I'll leave you with a toast, taught to me by my long departed Scottish grandfather. "Here's to it. If ye get to it and don't do it, may ye never get to it to do it again." You figure it out!

The Pros And Cons Of Being Ancient. Part 1.

Being a wise old fart, I see the glass as being both half full and half empty. Half empty tends to annoy me, along with screaming, unruly children, harping women, smelly old people, rude people in general, political correctness, governments, "know it all" young shits, cheap red wine and any whiskey other than single malt, just to name a few. So, while on the negatives, let's start with the cons of being old. At least that way, I'll end up on a positive note, assuming I don't kark it mid sentence.

The Cons:
They all start upon waking up in the morning. Invariably, I will have slept in an awkward, unnatural position, reminiscent of Quasimodo, which results in several degrees of agony, as I attempt to roll out of bed without falling on my face. As I hobble to the toilet on arthritic feet that I haven't seen for several decades, I ponder if I'll be able to accurately pee into the toilet, and not miss. This often poses a problem, as I haven't seen that part of my anatomy for several decades, either. Although my wife tells me it still exists.
Other difficulties include maintaining my balance while getting dressed, not spilling breakfast on my clean shirt, trying to remember whether I've already taken my tablets and failing to check my zipper before leaving the house.

Driving to work is always interesting. Younger drivers seem to think that older drivers should automatically get out of their way, regardless of the road rules. I'm really not a doddering old fool on the road. I like to think that I'm just being careful. When other drivers sound their horns at me and scream abuse. I smile and wave at them, Although, sometimes they don't seem to realise that the reason my middle finger sticks up is due to arthritis.

I work, part time, in a retail environment. That, in itself, is not a big deal, unless I stumble and accidentally push a snotty little kid out of a trolley. I swear that whenever that happens, it IS purely accidental. The major problem is, because I'm old, the customers think I'm supposed to know where everything is located, its price and whether it is a good product or not. Don't these stupid people realise that I have trouble remembering where the hell I am, let alone the answers to their useless, inane bloody questions?

When I get home in the evening, the problems continue. My wife asks how my day was. How the hell am I supposed to remember? She then asks me what I'd like for dinner. Surely, by now, she'd realise it all tastes like soggy cardboard, so why ask the question? Finally, going to bed is pretty much the same as getting up, just in reverse, but it lacks the excitement of waking up, knowing I made through the night.

Oh, I realise that that you think that I forgot the pros of being old. I didn't forget. I just can't be bothered typing any more. Maybe next post.