I was hanging out in the hallway a couple of days ago, wasting taxpayer money by gossiping with a co-worker.

Gossip is good.
There’s usually a small shred of truth in it and it helps one decide when it’s time to zig or zag.

But this isn’t about that.

This is about my colleague saying he was getting old.
The guy is 35 for yipes sake.

It’s always nice when someone touches on a subject where I can be considered an expert.

Outside of patty melts and Dobash Cake, I know a lot about getting old.

Getting old is a series of steps.
One doesn’t wake up one day and say I’m an old putz.

Since I’ve been there you may consider me a suitable guide to the steps on the road to your future.

Unless you’re already there.
Then welcome to my world.

We need more grumps.

The initial trauma is the arrival of your first gray hair.

It was my early 40’s when I found mine…while doing a radio show.

It became fodder for the next two hours, including every “I’m old” record I could find.

The show was fun and quite successful so the trauma was minor and quickly forgotten.

Anyway, there’s not much else you could do about it once you get past the endless argument of whether to pluck it or not.

I did.

If you’re a woman, you can simply head to the hairdresser and say, “Make me blond.”

For guys, it’s more difficult as our manliness gets in the way.

The next step for guys is a bad one.

It’s now my mid-ish 40’s and I’m a TV guy.

I crushed on a lady I met at some Friday night hangout that’s no longer around because I stopped going there.
I mentioned it to her girlfriend.

Later that night the lady said her friend thought I was too old for her.
Women can be so cruel.

I went home depressed and stayed in a funk for days.

As you move into your middle 50’s some shirts will stop fitting you.
It has nothing to do with washing them in hot water.

You’re getting a gut.

Then the pants stop fitting.
You’re getting some booty and it’s hanging low.

Late 50’s – you no longer bounce out of bed in the morning.
If you ever were that disgusting type of person.

When my grey sideburns starting climbing to the top of my head I dumped a bottle of Grecian Formula on myself.

I went from salt-and-pepper to jet black.
You know you can’t wash that stuff out?

I went and got a crew cut.

Now I really look ridiculous, but my hair was back to its grey.

The 60’s are okay because you don’t care any more and you figured you earned every one of them.

I hear the 70’s are better because you don’t remember.
Anything.

I’m looking forward to it and so will you when you get to my age.