Storytime

 

I feel I should mention up front that I’m sitting right here next to Zobostic as he types this, so occasionally I may pop in with a comment or two.  He doesn’t seem to mind, so I’m hoping you won’t either. 

Our story begins here.

        I’m fairly sure he snuck in under the cover of darkness, as I hadn’t noticed anything until the following morning, when I went to brush my teeth.  The first thing to catch my attention was the stark grayness of my hair.  No longer was it thick and black.  Now it appeared wispy thin and grayer than a battleship. (One in need of touch-up)

There were lines by my eyes.  Some might say wrinkles.  The face looking back at me was that of an old man.  It was someone who had witnessed weather first-hand.  Maybe not the great flood, but surely something of a similar time frame.    

As I studied this face, I could also feel odd pains coming from various areas of my body.  Had this late-night intruder also switched out my body for some pre-owned model, with more miles than listed on the sticker?  How rude. 

Was I now to be this old man?  Slower in thought and body?  I glanced at the kibitzer sitting next to me.  He had no comment.  In fact, he was stuffing his face with chips, of which, he offered me none.  Apparently, the new me now has dietary issues.  Oh joy.

If I am to be this old now, I must resign myself to it and embrace the life that’s offered.  I need to ignore my younger inner self, the one who believes I can still run and jump, for I am now the one who grumbles at 10 items or less.  I believe learning to be old will be much easier than denying the youthful one still residing within.

I accept that I am in transition, changing from young to old.  We all go through it.  But I can’t help but recall the Beatles singing about fixing a hole where the rain gets in, and thinking that had I done that, perhaps my nighttime intruder may have been foiled, and not gotten in and left me in this condition.

 

You never know.

 

 

 

 

 

zc