Distinguished

As we all grow older, our physical appearance changes. Some of us become "distinguished". I love that one. I recently had an encounter with someone from Cedar Rapids that had not seen me since 2004. He went back and reported that I looked "distinguished". I'm never sure what that means, but I chose to view it in a positive light.

When I look in the mirror in the morning just prior to my shower, what I see is a candle that seems to be melting at an ever increasing rate. As we age, our shape changes. Elasticity is lost. Things that were once tight, stiff or firm become bouncy or jiggly at best and saggy at worst. Pecs become moobs. Six packs become kegs. And for whatever reason, my testicles seem to drop lower and lower every year. I swear they are getting bigger too. I have to be careful when I sit. They get in the way. I guess I could follow the example of Origen of Alexandria and just have them removed. It's not like they serve any purpose in my life. What do I need all that testosterone for anyhow?

I could lose some weight and try to fight the melting candle effect, but I think at this point, nothing would tighten up. I would resemble a stick inside a empty white garbage bag. I suppose I might be healthier, but who knows? It might make things like arthritis worse. Perhaps a life of sedentary slothfulness would make for a good finish. Then again, if I took a page from Origens' handbook, perhaps I would become more useful. Who is to say?  

I just kind of dread that "going to seed" factor. The dying flower in autumn. I don't want to become brittle and crumbly like vegetation after the first frost. I suppose it's inevitable though. Have you seen David Letterman lately? Talk about going to seed! He looks a little like Wishbone from Rawhide.

See what I mean? This is what happens. This is a prime example of "going to seed". It even happens to celebrities. And now it's happening to me. The worst part is that I really don't care all that much. I seem to be content in my downward slide into a congealed puddle of wax. I wonder how much longer I will look distinguished and at what point I will just seem extinguished. I'm sure no one will tell me. I will just be considered spry or some other term you youngsters have for old codgers like me. Here's to getting old. There's only one other alternative.