It hurts me when someone does a survey and I’m not invited to participate.

After all, I can be the voice of reason and someone has to balance off some of those nit wits.

I represent the common person for I’m as common as they come.

Here’s what I’m taking about.

There’s a survey that’s been released that doesn’t make sense.

Again, remember most don’t because they didn’t ask me.

The survey question: If you had your way – and your health – what age would you like to be for the rest of your life?

The survey says most people picked…50.

How crazy is that?

I don’t know one person who would want to be 50.

You know in your heart most would say – in their middle-to-late 20s.

Your career is underway, nothing’s sagging, you’ve survived most of the dumb mistakes we all make and that’s when you have the most fun.

But 50?

Your hair’s going gray, the middle age spread is underway, ladies ignore you and you run out of gas by 8:00 PM.
That last part’s okay because you usually have bar-hopping out of your system by then.

Around 50 is when people start wearing big clothes so no one will notice the bumps and bulges.

Everyone, of course, knows we’re hiding our fat but delusion is a nice state of mind.

It’s what separates us from the animals.

The Harris online poll surveyed a total of 2,252 American adults which included men and women of all ages, all areas, and all political bents.

Except me.

Before you get too crazy, you have to understand that on-line polls are shibai.

People drop by, click some stuff and leave.
Nothing scientific about that.

The results:

People between 18 to 36, thought the perfect age was 38.

Those between 37 to 48, wanted to stay put at 49.

Baby boomers, 49 to 67, thought 55 was pretty awesome.

While us mature adults, ages 68 and older, were happy to hold steady at 67.
Hint: we’re just glad to wake up every morning.

Somehow they got 50 out of that.

My doctor says 50 is the new 30.

Of course, she’s over 50 and wears a muumuu.

I rest my case.

I recently met a very nice, attractive lady who was looking for a job in my field.

Smart, competent in what she does, seemingly destined for great things.

Except…
She spent the entire time we were chatting wailing away on her gum.

I’m talking go-to-town, open mouth, jawing away chewing.
And it was popping and crackling and making me crazy.

I wanted to yell, “Spit out the damn thing.”

Which I didn’t because I’m a nice guy and figured others have tried it and it didn’t work.

I don’t chew gum.

Okay, so I’m biased.
But it’s mine and I own up to it.

I tried gum a couple of times in my life but just swallowed it.

So in goes another piece, same thing, and another piece until I got sick.

Then my insides got all messed up requiring I put new magazines in the bathroom for many hours.

That stopped my experimentation with oral fixation.

I know a lot of people chew gum because you can find it stuck underneath any table at McDonald’s.

I assume they put it there while they ate and forgot to take it with them afterwards.

Or maybe it was left in case someone else wanted it.
It’s nice to share.

I dated a girl who chewed gum in junior high school.

It didn’t last long because one time it got stuck in my braces when I tried to fumble a kiss.

She thought it was funny and I was thinking how mad my mother would be.

I figured she would see that mess and she’d disapprove of my kissing a girl at 14.

Kissing leads to touching and other things and I was too young to get married in her mind.

There’s some scientific studies that supposedly say chewing gum is good for the brain.

They say it boosts thinking and alertness, and reaction times among chewers are up to 10 per cent faster.

It was printed in a British tabloid next to pictures of some drunk Earl of Whatnot, so you have wonder.

Other research published in Japan last year suggested chewing gum could interfere with short-term memory.

They might want to check to see how many are chewing gum at that nuclear reactor in Fukushima.

I suspect our world is being run by adults who were never spanked as kids and got a trophy for just showing up.

I’m not suspicious but Friday the 13th was a real lousy day.

Just about everyone who rained on my parade was using a fire hose.

On a scale of 1 (best) to 10 (worst)…

The morning traffic was a 7.
Where are the cops when people are driving on the shoulder of the road to bypass those of us waiting patiently?

My morning meeting was a 9.
The lady who knows the answers shows up an hour late leaving me to guess my way through the latest inquisition from upper management.

My workload was a 10.
The suits want everything now and that’s like trying to put 10 pounds of dirt in a 5 pound bag.

Ain’t going to happen but they doesn’t stop the emails and phones calls asking, “Is it done yet?”
“Maybe if you stop bugging me.”

My trip home was a 6.
I hit every red light.

I walk into the house and see the dog had barfed all over the rug in the family room.
Let’s give that an 8.
He’s done it before.

It was all topped off with the wife saying, “How about leftovers tonight.”
Sigh.

There’s a bright side to all this.
I suppose everything could have been a 10.