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.