There’s humour in old age
Some time ago, I was listening to a few stories related by a group of men on the subject of getting old. Of course eventually, the subject turned to stories beginning with, “Now when I was a young fella.” As the night wore on, stories dwelled on the realms of impossibility. I could be very quickly accused of telling a lie if I said that I did not contribute.
Many stories ___ no I take that back, all stories were unsuitable for publication other than in a “Men’s Own” publication. However that little session did give rise to me thinking, there must be other stories out there, which could be more suitable for session over the tea cups.
I went to a local home for the elderly; what a bundle of laughs. We talked about getting old and this and that, but at the end of it all this is what I came up with.
One of the old’s told me the distance to the corner shop had increased. “It never used to be that far when I first came here. I could live with that,” she continued, “but if the Council had not added that damned hill!”
“Before I came here,” another dear old lady in her eighties said. “I lived in Christchurch.” Then she had a fit of the giggles. Eventually she blurted out, “She had given up running to catch the bus into town, it left faster than it used to.” At that point laughter overwhelmed her.
“Did you notice the steps at the Post Office,” one elderly gent enquired?
“No I haven’t,” I replied.
“Well, the last time I went down there,” he said with a serious tone to his voice, “they’ve altered all the steps and have made higher. I had to go around to the ramp, most inconvenient I think, particularly for a man my age.”
I was almost to the point of forming a view that this crusty old gent was a grumpy old so and so, when his weathered dial began to lighten up. With a sparkle in his eye and a big cheesy grin, he said, “Just about had you then, boy?”
A gentle little lady, who would be lucky to see eighty again, said in her quiet timid little voice. “Excuse me, could you tell me why newspapers are being printed with such small print these days, is it to save money?” I didn’t have an answer to that one.
They all started in a rush, have heard this one or that one. I’ve put together some of their sayings.
“I don’t ask anyone to read to me anymore. Everyone speaks in such low tones I can’t hear them.”
“The material in dresses these days are getting so skimpy around the waist and the hips, they’re not like when I was a young girl.”
“Aren’t people so young these days younger than when I was their age?”
“I ran into one of my friends, whom I had not seen for a while, she had aged so much, poor thing, she didn’t even recognize me.”
Even I can relate to the next one.
“I was combing my hair this morning and thought, I better get a new mirror, and this one’s had its day, my face never used to look like this.”
Then one gentleman who had been sitting quietly in the background enjoying all the nonsense chirped up.
“Do you know how to tell when you are getting old?”
“Well ___ no, we all said as one.”
He produced a piece of paper and began to read.
Everything hurts and what doesn’t hurt, won’t work.
You feel like the morning after, but you haven’t been anywhere.
You know all the answers, but nobody asks you the question.
You look forward to a dull evening.
Your knees buckle but your belt won’t.
You burn the midnight oil until eight pm.
You can’t stand intolerant people.
Your back goes out more often than you do.
You sit in your rocking chair and you can’t get it going.
Well __ if that was not enough, a jovial lady, who may well have been a hard case in her younger days; she still is, by what was said next.
This was her story, accompanied by a lot of laughter.
“Do you know how to recognize a rotten day?”
‘Well’, She said
You put on your bra back to front in the morning and it fits better.
Your birthday cake collapses from the weight of the candles.
You go to put on your clothes that you wore to the party the night before and there aren’t any. (This got a mixed reception).
Your twin sister forgets your birthday.
You are traveling along the highway behind a group of Hells Angels and your car horn goes on and won’t release.
Your boss tells you not to bother taking your coat off.
You call your answering service and they tell you to mind your own business.
It’s such a lovely day and you decide to walk to work. You’ve walked through the busy part of town before realizing your dress is tucked into the back of your pantyhose.
Another young lady, of around the eighty mark and full of laughter, she said to me that the last time the Vicar visited me, he said to me “Mrs. B. Isn’t it time you began thinking about the hereafter?”
I just looked at him and said, “Oh, I do. I do that all the time, Vicar. When I go out to the garage, when I go into the bedroom and when I go to the kitchen, I think about it constantly. Yes, I say to myself, now what the devil am I here after?