cake

The true test of advancing age is not when you first hear a song you thought was hard core in high school, rendered as muzak while at the super market. That usually occurs in your late twenties. Nor is it the appearance of the pre-crow's feet lines in the corners of your eyes that you shockingly discover as if they appeared over night one sunny morning. That's what your thirties are about. No, it is none of those things that let you know that you have reached the summit and teetered over the tipping point, where the icy hand of death is slowly, silently creeping closer and closer. Today, I crossed the apex, over to the negative slope of the backside of life. And what was this penultimate event that let me know that I'm desperately clawing to the remnants of light as descend into the eternal sunset? Today I … not only saw a CD I liked in a bin at the car wash, I (gasp) bought it. I'm so ashamed. (sigh) I guess that's it. Senility is around the corner and it's fiber with every meal. And I was wondering why prunes have started to taste so good.




PS. If the guy at the car wash asks you what scent you want applied to the upholstery, don't pick "citrus breeze". My car now smells like a urinal cake at a welfare motel. If I had only known.