As I sit on my couch watching TV with eyes that need a new prescription and a back that could really use an adjustment, it’s never been more apparent to me that aging cannot be defeated. It slowly inflicts its wrath upon you with reminder after reminder of its power. Your body slowly starts to hurt more, the beers you drink haunt you a little worse the next day than the last time you drank, and each day you wake up means you’re a day further removed from your 21st birthday. I’m three years and some change removed from that night and that chunk of time feels like it flew by.
Now, I won’t be completely cynical. There’s plenty to actually enjoy about being a grown man. There’s something just so much more fulfilling about being a grown up from time to time that you just can’t get when you’re still on your parents dime and drunk 5-7 days a week. But while I’ve just started to ascend the roller-coaster hill of life, there’s already a few things in the distance that I’m unreasonably starting to dread.
First, let’s pour one out for the homies we’ve already lost. Yeah, baldness hits at any age. We all had that buddy who started wearing a hat everywhere at 15 and was razor shaving his head by 21. In your twenties, you start looking around and realizing that hairlines are fighting a losing battle. Some assholes rock a full mane that you know will be around as long as they want it to be, but the rest of us know that the clock is ticking.
I’ve heard your mom’s father determines it; I’ve also heard that it’s dependent of both grandpas. Doesn’t matter, both of my grandpas have been full cul-de-sac bald since the day I was born. Every time I visited, not only was I getting life lessons and insight into today’s weather, but also a sneak peek into my future as a man whose head looks like the smooth liver-spotted tip of a penis. I don’t look great with hair; I shudder to think about what’s going to happen when my awkward mop packs its bags and moves to a retirement community in Florida.
Ass-Related Medical Exams
Talking to you, prostate exam. Shoutout to you, colonoscopy. I know you’re necessary, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. For the first 24 years of my life, my ass has been a no-fly zone. To each his own, but that’s not something that appeals to old Crash. Unfortunately, with aging comes a need to make sure that something up your ass isn’t going to kill you.
I’m not sure what will be worse: the actual event or just the anticipation of a foreign finger or tiny camera kicking down the back door. Seeing as I’m already in a mini-panic despite being years away, I’m really hoping it’s the anticipation. I’m dreading the purging of shit that has to occur, and I’m dreading the discomfort. Most of all, I think I’m dreading that despite being fairly cool with every doctor I’ve ever had, I think it’s just different to look a man in the eyes knowing that he’s about to slide a camera up your ass.
Not Relating to Youth
This isn’t to say that I’m worried that I won’t fit in with the cool kids. If I ever end up as the 50-year-old guy trying to hang out with college kids, I encourage someone to punch me in the face on the spot. But no one wants to be that person who’s just so out of touch with young people that it’s painful to watch. I’m truly afraid of being that parent who during the course of conversing with my kid’s friends ends up sounding like Phil Mickelson saying the word “tight.”
This side effect of aging isn’t an absolute. While there’s a 100% chance your balls eventually sag and your hair turns white, you still may not end up an out of touch geezer. Now you do have to face facts. For every Pete Carroll, the 60+ year old guy who exhumes youthful exuberance, there’s like fifty guys like your old second cousin Wilfred who still sprays himself thoroughly in Axe body spray and occasionally asks you if you can help him court women on the internet. If I can just avoid becoming enough of a weird old man to the point where I at least don’t embarrass my kids, I’ll consider it a personal victory. .
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