When I was approaching my fiftieth birthday, I still felt young, and defined old age as the years leading up to the big Seven Zero. Today is my sixty-eighth birthday, so I’ve re-adjusted my old-age gauge. Now, I consider people approaching the big Eight Zero as being old.
Unless my decomposition rate accelerates, my body may survive eight decades, but will my mind? Terms such as cognitive impairment, mental dementia, senility, short-term memory loss, and absent-mindedness worry me. A friend’s birthday message describing several geriatric scenarios wasn’t much comfort.
The first scenario involved three old widows — Mabel, Mildred, and Myrtle — who lived together. Preparing to bathe, Mabel went upstairs, turned on the water, and while the tub was filling, undressed in her bedroom. When she returned to the bathroom, she wasn’t sure whether she had already bathed or not, so she yelled to Mildred, “Have I bathed yet?”
Mildred went to check on her friend. Halfway up the stairs, she paused to catch her breath, and couldn’t remember whether she had been ascending or descending. Calling to Myrtle, she asked, “Was I going up the stairs, or down?”
Sipping a cup of tea, Myrtle rapped on the wooden kitchen table for good luck, mumbled to herself … Lord, please don’t let me become that forgetful … and yelled, “Mildred, I’ll come help you and Mabel as soon as I see who is knocking at the door.”
In the next scenario, three hearing-impaired octogenarians — Oscar, Oliver, and Owen — were enjoying a golf outing. Preparing to tee off, Oscar turned to Oliver and said, “It’s windy, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Oliver, “It’s Thursday.”
Overhearing the exchange between his pals, Owen said, “So am I. Let’s go to the clubhouse and get something to drink.”
The third scenario took place in a nursing home. An old lady was traipsing up and down the hallways, raising the hem of her nightgown and yelling, “Super sex, super sex!”
She paused before an elderly gent in a wheelchair, raised her nightgown and repeated “Super sex, super sex!” The man thought for a moment and said, “I’ll take the soup.”
In the next scenario, two old ladies, lifelong friends, were playing bridge. Somewhat embarrassed, one asked, “Please don’t be upset, but I’ve forgotten your name. What is it?”
Thinking as hard as she could, the other lady finally asked, “Uh … how soon do you need to know?”
In the final scenario, an eighty-year-old man who had met friends for a walk around the mall was driving along the freeway when his cell phone rang. In a frantic voice, his wife said, “Bernard, I know you’re headed home, but please be careful. I just heard on the news that some idiot on the freeway is headed in the wrong direction.”
“Honey,” Bernard said, “it’s not just one idiot going the wrong way — there are hundreds of them!”
Even gloomier after reading my friend’s birthday message, I decided that, once again, it’s time to re-adjust my old-age gauge.
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
