Speaking of dying…

Old man screaming

Photo courtesy of Gratisography

 

Did I tell you the news?

I’m dying.

It’s not like my doctor called me up with some test results or anything. No, I discovered my ailment from a trusted, reliable source whose diagnosis is 120% accurate:

An AARP membership card application in the mail.

Not only is this proof that you’re dying, but if you pay them a membership fee, they’ll get you discounts on stuff that will hopefully make your life happier as you’re dying.

Stuff like travel to go where other dying people hang out, prescriptions to alleviate your suffering as you’re dying, and  eating out at restaurants to fuel your dying body.

Think I’m making this stuff up? Then try stopping by a local restaurant during the day.

You’ll see flocks of cantankerous old people wearing AARP baseball caps, carrying their membership tote bags while waving their membership cards in the air to flag down wait staff who are actively trying to run away from them.

They’re the people who keep sending their food back to the kitchen because it all tastes like wet cardboard. Boy, do I have news for them: When you get old, EVERYTHING tastes like wet cardboard.

But don’t blame it on the AARP. They’re just being honest with you about your advanced state of decay.

Remember not so long ago when you could break rocks with your forehead, dig a well with a garden shovel, then run a 10k race in flip flops, with nary a sore muscle the next day?

Fast forward to you waking up every morning with muscle cramps, sore arms, aching lower back, and dry spit glands all from the rigorous exercise known as “sleeping.”

Even getting in and out of a car is more like an octogenarian Olympic event:

“Well ladies and gentleman, it appears he’s found the door handle and is struggling to get the door open. He’s trying to get his leg out and look, the left foot has touched the ground. I repeat: the left foot has touched the ground. He is now bringing his right foot around and oh, that terrible crackling noise. Oh the humanity! He’s putting weight on both feet and now he’s… Oh no, looks like a bolt of pain has seized him. He’s now back in the seat, writhing in pain. The bronze metal is definitely out of reach.”

But if you’re worried about getting a participation trophy for all you’re going through, rest easy. You’ll probably end up with a four-tier Lazy Susan filled with “trophies,” all coming from your favorite doctor. Be sure to proudly show your guests whenever they stop by:

“And this one? This one here is for a bladder infection. Next to that, halitosis. Behind that one is high blood pressure, low blood pressure, pre-diabetes, sleep aid, awakening aid, excessive ear wax control, gas, and of course, a bottle of gummy worm multi-vitamins just to mix things up.”

So here’s the bad news: You’re dying. But cheer up… at least you don’t have to pay full price for runny eggs that taste like wet cardboard.

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