Middle age ain't for sissys

I am a 43 year old, white heterosexual male, Or as I and others in my category think of our selves, the Butt of God's Bad Jokes.

First being forty three years of age is in many ways a fate worse then death. Too old to be considered COOl by anyone under the age of 38 and not old enough to be "Distinguished". We are told that we are not getting old by the people who love us, we are merely middle aged. I don't really know that many 86 year old men but I keep hoping.

Hunting for a job is a treat. You go into a small room to interview with a 20 year old snot that doesn't quite have all his acne cleared up. The only thing newer in the room then the kid is the kid's shiny Human Resources badge. He introduces himself and the last name sounds familiar, Hmmmm......................."Is your mother's name Cathy and your dad's name is Brian right? Yeah, I went to school with them. Hell, I used to date your mother! Oh, the positions been filled?"

Your body that you knew so well as a young man now begins to turn on you.
Your hair slowly disappears like a bar of soap in a shower, which is a pretty good example because the shower is usually the last place you saw the strands of your youth as they clog up your drain.
Sex? It takes many years of bumbling around in the dark to finally perfect your "game" with your wife. Slower, faster, not there, not tonight, it's not your birthday, where the hell did you learn that?, After all the compromises and helpful instructions you are the master of the bed chamber. Then you turn 40 and the only thing that completely hardens is your arteries. But not to worry. Through the miracle of modern science we have magic pills. Blue ones, Brown ones, and white ones. With these little friends you are invincible!! Well, except for the blurred vision, cramps, headache, and water retention. That's right, they turn you into a WOMAN with PMS.

God also has a sick sense of humor. He makes me need to goto the rest room twice a night and then makes my night vision bad enough that I stub my toe on every piece of furniture between the bedroom and the bathroom. The only thing that could make it better is Brittle Bone disease.
For many years I have stood tall and proud aiming with a dead eye at the toilet. Today I sit and take it easy because my bladder now empties at a rate so slow that the US Mail Service would be proud of me.

But I look forward to a brighter future. Soon I will have one of those handicapped parking passes, be able to order off the cheap section of the menu, be able to freak out kids by taking my teeth out, and generally act like an ass hole in public and have people excuse it because they think I'm senile.

I wonder how Cealis works with prune juice?