"Eh? Can you speak up sonny?"

I was reading this post from Virginia is for Lovers earlier today and was reminded that I am getting old...I had to admit that I could not join her club of "20-Something" bloggers because I had shed that title back in "ought-six".

Couple that realization with the plethora of grey hairs that seem to be making like horny rabbits on my head and I have to begin dealing with the inevitable...Old Age.

I know, I know...I am still a pup, right? I mean, I can only remember 1 president that does not have the name Bush or Clinton, I was not alive while Mao was reigning in China, and while I may own the entire discography of Led Zeppelin, I have only been around for the release of 1 of their studio albums...but nonetheless I can see the coming mountain and it is daunting.

It starts with the gray hair...Claire swears up-and-down that they are simply blond highlights, but I know better...and my beard seemed to get a saltier color every day. Can I blame that on her?

It moves on to that little groan that I let out as I climb into and out of bed each day...humpf...I don't know why I groan...I don't really hurt, but it just seems like something us old folks should do.

It continues with those lines in my face when I smile or frown...which I seem to do more and more of each day...the frowning part, not the smiling part. I mean, if I am going to think I am a grumpy old man, I should look the part...right?

The clues continue to get dropped when I realize that I am ruined for days if I don't get at least 6 hours of sleep...and if I stay up much past midnight, look-out cause I know I will pay for that the rest of the week. I get sleepy around 3 in the afternoon, I have a sudden urge to garden, I am worrying that my diet might lead to high cholesterol, and it sometimes takes a second to get a good pee stream going...

Sure, I am younger than many people...even some of my friends. I can still run a marathon (but so can people that were alive the Model T was still on the road), I can't run for President yet, I don't see any folly in jumping from an airplane (although, neither does George Herbert Walker Bush and he is 83), and I still eat just about anything I want without worry of indigestion (but so do these two).

It is just those pesky gray hairs and wrinkle lines by my eyes that give me pause...that and I said "back in ought-six" without even batting an eye.