The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the term old as "dating from the remote past," "persisting from an earlier time," "showing the effects of age," "no longer in use," and "used to express affection." That's me, all right – dating from the remote past and no longer in use. Although I am occasionally called upon to express affection.
Ask anyone (especially women) and they'll tell you that things really start to go to hell by the time you reach 40. At 40, I felt the immediate effects of gravity pulling me out to sea like a tsunami. My metabolism was well on its way into its suicidal dive, meaning that I actually had to start counting calories.
My biggest battle is avoiding the diagonal belt. For those of you unfamiliar with the diagonal belt, it's an old belt that is too small to completely surround the blubber you've accumulated around your waist while it futilely struggles against the forces of gravity to remain parallel to the floor. So, the belt holds on for dear life in the small of your back, while the front slides down to a 45 degree angle with your beer belly hanging over the top of it. The myth, of course, is that as long as I can continue wearing this belt, I'm not slipping as fast as I thought I was. I can still brag to friends, "I still wear the same belt I wore in high school." Just at a different angle.
I've also had to learn how to avoid showing the world my muffin top. A muffin top is a roll of fat with nowhere to go. So, it spills over the top of your diagonal belt. The solutions are to buy bigger and bigger pants and never tuck your shirt in. As long as you have something hiding your waist, no one ever has to know that you own a muffin top. It can be 115° while sitting outside by the pool in Desert Hot Springs and I'll always have a sweater tied around my waist – just in case it gets cool.
Relaxed fit jeans have also helped. In fact, Americans have become so fat it's hard to find any other type. Relaxed fit jeans are made from an elastic material that "stretches with you as you move" – the manufacturers’ words, not mine. And, if relaxed fit jeans don't help, you can buy pants with adjustable elastic tabs on either side your waist. These handy little devices allow you to let the waist out on your pants as much as four inches without going back to Walmart for a larger pair.
I've noticed that most older people's bathrooms have one thing in common: they have huge medicine cabinets. Not big. Huge. They're necessary to contain all of the prescription and over the counter medicines we now require. I have one entire shelf devoted to prescription drugs, arranged by expiration date and the time of day they're supposed to be taken. I have over 30 bottles of prescription medicines that I haven't the foggiest idea why they were originally prescribed to me – but I don't dare throw them out. If I needed them once, chances are I'll need them again.
On the shelves below the prescriptions, I keep the necessary salves, balms, laxatives, sprays, lotions, eye drops, Advil, Fleets enema kits, Q-tips, Beano caplets, allergy medications, patches (both hot and cold), rubs, hemorrhoid creams, sleep aids, tubes, applicators, measuring cups and sponges that I need to get through the day.
Underneath the sink I keep a supply of contact lenses, solutions, glasses, extra reading glasses, braces, ace bandages, supports, electric toothbrushes, water piques, toothbrush sanitizers, plaque removers, blood pressure monitors, TMJ appliances, heating pads, ice packs, sleep apnea aids and support stockings that could compete with the inventory of a Costco pharmacy. And that's not including the drawer in my night stand reserved for sexual wellness helpers like Viagra, Cialis, Levitra, lubricants, jellies, condoms, pumps, male enhancement creams, contraceptives and heaven forbid, home pregnancy tests. Just in case.
One of the most puzzling things for me as I've aged has been the inevitable movement of hair from one location on my body to another. When I was young, hair grew on my head. It wasn't found anywhere else. As I matured into puberty, it began growing on my arms, legs and more private places. Things stayed pretty much that way for dozens of years. Once I hit 50, I noticed the slow migration of hair from the top of my head as it headed south. The once smooth and silky skin on my shoulders and back has become densely forested with fields of thick, ape-like hair.
Confused with this unbridled phenomenon, I went to the Internet to try to learn why it should be so. The only thing that I've come up with is that as you age, hair covers sensitive parts of the body for extra warmth, protection and lubrication. I thought about this for a while, but I still haven't come up with any reasons why I now need more hair on the inside of my ears and nose and less hair on the top of my head. Nor can I come up with one good reason why my back needs to be any warmer at 50 than when I was 18.
A few other developments remind me of how old I'm getting with each passing day. Arguably the most important invention has been the remote control that surfaced in 1955. At first, remote controls only did one thing – they changed the channels on a television. Simply by pointing it in the general direction of the TV, you could miraculously switch between Adam 12 and The Dick Van Dyke Show without having to move your TV tray. Today, Universal Remote Controls manipulate everything in the house from your flatscreen television to the DVR, the microwave oven, your home computer, the thermostat on the hot tub, the temperature inside your wine cooler, your iPod, digital blender and double-wide refrigerator. It can even help your wife start your car when you need to make an early morning run to the emergency room because you haven't moved for the past three days.
In the same year that the remote control materialized, Raytheon invented the microwave oven (previously called the radar range) that has allowed me to completely eliminate cooking nutritious meals at home. In their place, I can zap popcorn, TV dinners or nachos in less time than it takes a commercial to run. Other important devices that I've integrated into my life are cordless tools, LED flat panel screens, cell phones, ATMs, iPods, Velcro, GPSs, personal computers, laser beams, superglue, digital music and most important – Automated External Defibrillators. Just in case.
Allen Smith, of Vail, Colorado is the author of “Watching Grandma Circle the Drain” and “Ski Instructors Confidential.” He can be reached www.snowwriter.com.