“… in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” – Benjamin Franklin, 1789
7 SIGNS
1. Loss of appetite. Your insane food cravings for salt and sweets no longer compel you to stick up a gas station or shoplift Snickers bars at a 7-11. “The Hunger Games” is merely a movie you wouldn’t watch for all the cat food money in the free world.
2. Gravity has won. You have more wrinkles on your neck and chin than the average pug.
3. Sex. Your orgasms “don’t bring home the Gold.” You know what I mean.
4. You don’t LOL when you watch “Portlandia.” You don’t know what “Portlandia” is. You don’t know what LOL is.
5. You stalk babies in the grocery store and insist upon conversing S-L-O-W-L-Y with them while the poor mother – who’s typically had five decent hours of sleep in the past fifteen months – is passing out from politeness.
6. Changes in Urination. You constantly have to – or are – peeing. This could merely be due to menopause or to post childbearing bladder stretch syndrome, as evidenced in the family car trip “The Griswolds Got Nothin’ On Us” by Dawn Weber at Lighten Up!
7. You forget to breathe. Like all the darn time. Especially when you’re fussing a blue streak ’cause your panties are in a twist… which is unfortunately most of the time. Less hot air anyway.
Bonus. Social Media Withdrawal. You no longer share those important life events with the online world, such as “Had a yummy dish of tapioca pudding today” and “Went shell collecting with Geezer” and “I saw a puppy today. Don’t you love puppies?” Your last tweet is “Helgrghhrrrposht!” Your last Facebook post is prophetic, “That’s odd. My fingers and toes are berry blue and ice cold to the touch. Maybe I should google that…”
I’m just dyin’ to hear… ho,ho… how will YOU know… death is near?
No octogenarians or curmudgeons were harmed in the writing of this post.
