Squirrel Droppings – I got old

by Fred Prout

I may have mentioned that I live with a lot of older people. But I do everything possible to avoid joining their legions. I look around and see people with canes, walkers, rollators and electric scooters. One of my mottos is “ Ageing is mandatory, getting old is optional “ A state of mind.

In order to preserve my third or fourth childhood I have a certain regimen.
Physically I walk on the treadmill for a mile and a half. Eat breakfast and go to Planet Fitness to work out for 45 to 60 minutes. Physically I am in better shape than former football star Howie Long. I can still tie my own shoelaces.

Mentally I constantly read. Books, news, magazines. Anything to retain mental acuity. Word puzzles. A great mental exercise.

Socially I am involved with numerous activities. Interpersonal interactions. Concerts, games , shows. Whatever I can do to co-mingle with my peers. Exchanging ideas on whatever we can. Making ourselves think. Keep the brain juices flowing to keep from becoming a victim of time. The dreaded GETTING OLD.

In spite of all my precautions I recently got old.

Just briefly though.

How in the world did this happen?

The adage “ No good deed goes unpunished “ comes to mind. It seems my sweetheart was in need of what are called upper foundational undergarments.
There are many words for said items. If you use Boggle you will find upwards of fourteen different euphemisms. The most descriptive,of course, is the German word Holzemfrumfloppen. Really. I wouldn’t just make stuff up.

Anyway, we end up in the local department store. Head to the Ladies Intimate
department. What the British call Knickers and Knockers. I’m commanded to wait in a twelve square foot area in the event that I might somehow be needed. Yeah, right.
Pacing, standing and avoiding eye contact.TWELVE SQUARE FEET!!!

Now you older married men can skip this paragraph. Please don’t but you can. You have undoubtedly experienced it. You youngsters pay particular attention as your entire future may depend on what you learn. See, guys buying any of this stuff walk in. Two style choices. Three brands with one on sale. We grab the sale items in our size and fifteen seconds later whip out the card and poof all done.

Ladies? Ha!!! The choices are mind boggling. Sports bras. Underwire. Full Figure. Cross Strap. Lightly Padded. Wait, Underwire??? Seventeen different brands. Each one measuring differently. This 38 is not the same as that 38.
Then cup size. All different confusing letters. Why not use a scale like fried egg to lemon to cantaloupe and everything in between. It would be easier but we would miss out on the next part of the adventure.

Trying them on.

First wander around to find someone to open the dressing room. I understand this. You certainly don’t want to just do this on the sales floor. Remember I’m still pacing my assigned twelve square feet. There are usually more trying oners than rooms. Guys the best thing that can happen to you is that someone tries to cut the line. Your time pacing will go by much quicker. Ladies kicking and scratching. Yelling and screaming. Each room has a card with the number of items to try. Double that number for the amount of jiggling and tucking. Remember. Be invisible. No eye contact as you pace your assigned area. You are in enemy territory.

My sweetheart finally emerges from the room. I surreptitiously check my watch. WOW!!! Less than two hours of pacing and only three trips with different choices. FREE AT LAST. My twelve square feet expands to infinity. We can pay and leave. Might even make it for dinner.

Then it dawns on me. I spent all that time lurking in their private, personal domain. Not one single woman has glared at me silently snarling “PERVERT”. “GO AWAY”
I obviously had the look of an over the hill, not to be concerned about, OLD MAN! How ego deflating. But I’m sure I’ll get over it in time. On the way out of the store we pass the shoe department. I eye the display of Sketchers Step Ins and secretly gloat: Eat your heart out Howie Long. I can still tie my own shoelaces .
I’m not so old after all.

Fred Prout