Did we really do that? Incredible, I can clearly relate to that “One Guy” in the video. Yes, boys and girls, the truth it seems, is indeed, stranger than fiction. In my case, “it is downright incriminating” when presented in a court of law.
As the date of my 50th High School Reunion inches closer and closer, I gaze at the mark on my torn, well worn calendar hanging next to the refrigerator in the kitchen. Almost as if hit by a ton of bricks, the enormous reality of this hopeless situation begins to sink in.
Time to face the facts.
I am not going to be able to lose 75lbs of excess body-fat that I became friends with in the early nineties. I am not going to grow a good robust crop of gray hair and resemble an Oklahoma Robert Redford look alike. I will not be able to bank $2.5 million any time soon with Wells Fargo, or rent a limo and driver by September.
I do not understand why a lot of my classmates seem to have held up well over the years, and I resemble a hard driven-beat up Ford Pinto with a half-a-tank of fuel. Why is it that at class reunions you feel younger than everyone else looks?” Some will freely associate with terms like: “Awesome girl” … “You look great! … “The years have been kind to you.”
In my particular case the word “well-preserved” may be sprinkled in the conversation here and there, from time to time throughout the night-time event.
My methods to cope are not working.
Even tho, I keep hitching up my pants to cover up my chin, which is now a stomach, it apparently isn’t helping matters all that much. And I suspect, by the time I do get there, I will be nothing but a pair of black trousers with ears!
To me the answer is logical, simple and crystal clear … If God wanted me to touch my toes, he would’ve put them on my knees.
Having given up hope on hooking up with any of my old flames, I suddenly realize that even smoking in the bathroom is now out, as I stopped smoking some twenty-five years ago. This is coincidentally about the same time my serious Twinkie/Ding-Dong addiction materialized come to think of it.
Like my old man said, “Time to face the music, you want dance, you have to pay for the band.” No hooking up. 98% of all the lovers in the world, are not with really their first choice. That is what makes the jukebox play. At my age “Getting lucky” means walking into a room and remembering what I came in there for.
Time to face the facts. I am a pair of brown shoes in a Tuxedo World, no doubt about it. I need at least another fifty-years to make it to the point of being “half-way presentable” and we all know that is not going to happen.
Did I roll just my eyes out loud?