Getting old happens
Getting old happens.
A telltale sign is those white pill boxes on the kitchen table.
There are other indicators.
Your new car has more options than you do.
Speed bumps are a challenge.
So are large print crossword puzzles.
If you aren't misplacing the remote, it's the telephone.
You have two pair of eyeglasses but can't find either one.
You lose your car in the grocery store parking lot, twice in one week.
And lock yourself out.
Friends caution you to "watch your step."
When you step off a curb, you look down first.
You don't care where your hubby goes as long as you don't have to tag along.
Your idea of a night out is sitting on the porch swing.
You keep your phone turned to maximum volume.
It takes longer to rest.
Your joints tell you when it's going to rain.
Your pantry is stacked with all bran cereal, oats, fiber food, prunes.
You look forward to nothing.
Your sidekick is your cell phone or your hunting dog.
You no longer put candles on your cake.
And you might fudge about your age.
The receding hairline has met the bald spot.
Your favorite rerun is Andy Griffith with Opie and Aunt Bea.
In the middle of a sentence you forget what you're talking about.
No one asks you if you want to be an organ donor.
Your kids don't want you behind the wheel.
You are just about there when you start telling a story and your spouse finishes it.
Your mirror begins to look like your mom (or dad).
The clothes you've been wearing have come back in style.
A telephone rings on the TV and you go to answer yours.
You stay home on Saturday nights.
Popcorn is your favorite dessert.
Life is more downs than ups.
You take pills before breakfast, at lunchtime, in the evening and before bed.
You remind yourself to buy another pill box for your purse.
You repeat yourself; you repeat yourself...........................