The Revitalization of the Gracefully Aging Man
by michael cahill
I’ll not debate whether I am actually old at this stage of my life. There are those who would make that assertion, I cannot acquiesce to such a line of thinking at this juncture.
I am, however, resigned to the fact I am aging. Fortunately, these signs of aging are manifesting themselves in incidental ways and not a single important function has been affected. I look around me at my peer group and I must admit, a sigh of relief is in order. Well, excuse me for a moment while I step outside and raise my arms in a token of victory screaming, “WHOOOOO HOOOOO, It’s all still working. YEEE HAAAWWWWW!”
I realize I have done nothing whatsoever to achieve this lucky state. I’ve not paid attention to my diet or exercised religiously all my life. I’ve not restricted the intake of alcohol other than not wanting it at a particular time. When I do want it, I have it. I’ve often wanted it … a lot of it. I’m not a fan of drugs for myself, so I suppose that helped. I like salt, and I smoke.
I’ve never practiced safe sex; indeed, I’ve had some pretty dangerous liaisons. I’ve never had an STD or needed STP or encountered a UFO. I understand I’m lucky, and being Irish has played no small part. I won some kind of genetic pool and apparently the rest of my family suffered as a result. I’m the only healthy individual in three generations.
I understand moderation is the way to go. I’ll give some consideration to that line of thinking moving forward. I admit, it hasn’t been part of my mindset in the past. I’ve plenty of time to consider it. I think just considering it is a huge step in the right direction.
Yes, there are secret rituals we men perform in honor of our penises when we get older and find them still functioning in fine form. It is a relief to be candid and I think it’s just awful the way society makes us worry about it. I’ve been needlessly fearing a loss of function for the last twenty years. I had a girlfriend give me one of those little blue pills as a joke a few years back. I had a headache and she claimed it was a Tylenol PM. Well, the joke was in her.
In my case, I’m awakened early in the morning usually by an exciting dream about a certain someone. I must admit, it’s a pleasure every time to see my loyal friend at attention ready to conduct business should the need arise … pun intended. Everyman has his own chant or incantation. Mine goes like this: “Tip of the morning to you, keeper of hope and symbol of my dreams. Once again you have defied the very laws of time and physics. Gravity means nothing to you; desire means everything. I promise, one day soon, you will go into action as in days of yore. In the meantime, I extend my hand to you in the bonds of friendship.” Well, some men are shy about such matters, at my age, well … I am, indeed, bragging.
There are some allowances I’ve had to make to age. I hate to admit it, but facts are facts. I fear my hair might turn grey. Fortunately, it’s turned a blondish, brownish, silvery colour. There is no name for it, but the good news is, it’s not grey. In a family where ALL the men went bald by the time they were forty, I suppose I should be thrilled to have all of my fabulous long locks at my age … I am!
I’ve also discovered another shocking revelation. I can’t get by on my looks anymore. In fact, there are age groups that suddenly seem to find me off limits for some reason. The twenty somethings think I’m darling until they realize I’m not kidding. They, well, they can be kind of cruel to be honest. Perhaps I should explain how functional I am, but I fear they wouldn’t take it the right way. Even the thirty somethings seem to have their priorities messed up. What difference does it make how much money I have? Is that a factor in true love? Why do the forty somethings want me to show them my driver’s license? I’m guessing they want my address so they can climb in my window at some point. Well, I’m waiting … it’s open … where are you?
I must admit I didn’t get it when women in their fifties started buying me drinks. I wondered to myself, “Why are these old ladies buying me drinks?” Finally, I realized. OMG! They’re hitting on me. Wow. Finally, I realized they think I’m fair game. Wow. I really am getting older.
So, you can see, I’m going through some things. I’ve been used to being young and having the entire pool of available woman to peruse and make my play on. That’s not to say I’ve had my pick. I’m just saying the field of play used to be much larger.
I’ve also found that the tools of the game have changed considerably for me. At one point in my life, I just walked onto the field in all my shyness and somehow there would be someone who found me appealing. Whew! That was so fortunate. Had speaking or conversation been required, I would’ve been in trouble. Mysterious, guitar playing, and according to them, good looking, was all that was required.
Now, for God’s sake, it appears I need a personality. Jeesh. I’ve discovered a sense of humour doesn’t hurt either. Any idea how difficult it is to come up with a personality after all these years? I mean, hell, what kind of a personality should I have? I discovered right away I couldn’t go with a very mature one. Anything requiring me to be Mister would be out of the question. No one would think of calling me mister. Hell, everyone calls me, “Mikey”. Mercy, I discovered being called “Mikey” isn’t all that sexy a thing. It’s cute and even endearing, but it doesn’t get the ladies hot.
But, dammit, I can’t shake it. So, I have to build on “Mikey” and add some factors. I’ve thought about a video with my morning penis praise ritual, you know, direct evidence of prowess. But that’s probably not the kind of smooth approach that the modern woman is looking for. On the other hand, success with that eliminates the need for smoothness, but there’s a fear factor there too. I might get hurt. A woman who would find that appealing could be dangerous.
That led me to a sense of humour. Laughter seems to distract women from many shortcomings. You really don't want them focusing on things like noticing you're shrinking. You have to be ready with a joke or a little slapstick to divert their attention. I mean, think about it, do you want them scrutinizing you too closely? Get the laughter going and keep it going.
It seems it’s important to a woman that day to day existence be pleasant. Ahhhh. I can see that. So, if hanging around with me is enjoyable then the chicks are going to be interested.
So, I can assure you. I am funny and interesting. I don’t have grey hair. I’m healthy. I have a steady lifetime income. AND I have a cool ritual to welcome my penis to attention every morning. I’m guessing that’s pretty competitive for my age group.