Being a certified old guy, I'm compelled to agree. In my younger days, I also thought old people had a peculiar odor as well; something like a combination of mothballs, fried bacon, a Catholic church, talcum powder, and the dust underneath the couch. Not entirely unpleasant, yet enough so that one tends to avoid their grandparent's homes and cars.
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I turned 50 years old in January, and this is what happened to me: I went to bed the night before my birthday, smelling like I always have. A typical slightly musky, male, non-disagreable scent. Upon awakening, I immediately noticed the peculiar odor mentioned above. It can't be me, I thought. It must be my OLF (old lady friend), as she had hit 50 some years earlier and had indeed developed this scent. Being the polite gentleman I am, I had never mentioned this to her. You young people today know nothing of the wrath of a menopausal woman. They are not beyond biting railroad spikes in half given sufficient cause to do so, and mentioning anything they may disagree with will produce this reaction. But I digress.
Since she was gone procuring crocheting supplies, I had no alternative but to conclude the smell was emanating from me. My dog entered the room, as he does each morning, and took a sniff of my hand. He retreated as if I had opened a bottle of ammonia under his nose, yelping and whining all the way to his cushion, where he stayed for the remainder of the day. He did come back in later and urinated on my pillow, but again, I digress.
I decided before I did anything else, to take a hot shower, thinking the smell was an after effect of our annual foray into the sex life we once had. (You kids may not be aware, but the vagina of an elderly woman smells exactly like your grandmother's closet). About as dry and roomy, as well. Again, I digress. After the shower, the smell seemed to grow stronger. Yes, it definitely was coming from me. So I start to get dressed, and what a surprise lay in store for me!
Some time in the night, someone or something had exchanged all my standard white t-shirts for the strap variety, what you kids these days call "wife-beaters." What I used to call "old-man chonies." Well, its all that was there, so I put them on. I opened the closet and was shocked at what awaited me there. Everything inside was made of polyester. The shirts were all golf-shirts, and the trousers were all plaid. Where the Hell are my blue jeans, I wondered? Not to be found. So again, I donned the plaids. To my surprise, the pair I selected came about 3 inches above my ankles, and would only stay up if they were 3 inches below my nipples. Doesn't look so bad, I thought. Especially after I put on my white socks and sandals, it looked rather dapper.
I returned to the bathroom to finish preparing for the day. It was then I noticed most of my hair had fallen off in the night. By most I mean most in the middle of my head. Fortunately, all the hair on the left side of my head was now shoulder length, so I was able to style it in the comb-over I had envied all my life. But a secondary problem arose. I now had a massive growth of steel wool textured hair sprouting from each nostril and both ears. These, I left as they were, pretending they wern't really there.
I walked down to the senior center, walking really slow with sort of a shuffle. First, I yelled at the children who may or may not have been about to play on my lawn. This had never concerned me prior to that day, but it suddenly became the most important thing in my life at that moment. Once I arrived, I got a newspaper and sat in a chair and dozed off. During my nap, I farted many times, I was told later. Of course, I denied those allegations. I have a patented method of passing gas I refer to as the diguise-o-fart. While farting, I loudly clear my throat. Timing is everything with this method of releasing flatulance.
At the senior center, I found I now had a desperate need to play checkers and argue about everything. Eventually I got in a fist fight with another senior, and the staff spent 20 minutes picking up the loose change on the floor. I've since obtained a little purse I squeeze which opens and I can deposit my dimes and nickels in which prevents that loss of change.
I hope this explains to the young folks something. I'm not sure what, but something. Its time for my nap again, then over to Denny's for the scrumptious back-page menu. Bedtime is 7:30, so I need to get going.
- this is in or around The Rest Home
- no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests