Overheard at the Senior Center:
“Hey, Joe, I hear you’re getting married?”
“Do I know her?”
“Is she good looking?”
“Is she a good cook?”
“Naw, she can’t boil water.”
“Is she rich?”
“Nope! Poor as a church mouse.”
“Then why do you want to marry her?”
“Because she can still drive!”
I didn’t get my own car until I was 24 and pregnant with my son. When I was in high school, the most popular kids were those with cars. The same is true with the older set. Those who still have their wheels are surrounded by those who have given up their license, voluntarily or not, because of bad vision or reflexes or memory or some other indignity of the aging process.
Bill, a 70-year-old widower, was extremely wealthy. One evening he walked into the country club dining room with a breathtakingly beautiful 25-year-old blonde. She hung on his arm and listened intently to his every word. His buddies are all agog. After dinner, she excused herself to the ladies’ room, and they all rushed over to his table.
“Bill, how’d you get the trophy girlfriend?”
“What do you mean girlfriend? She’s my wife.”
“Your wife! How in the world did you get her to marry you?”
“Well, I might have lied about my age a little bit.”
“Oh, I get it. Did you tell her you’re 50 or 60?”
“No, I told her I was 90.”
This is a cute story, but the underlying ugly truth is that there are those who prey on lonely seniors for financial gain. I didn’t have to worry about that with Mom. First, she didn’t have enough money to make it worthwhile, and second, she wasn’t interested. During one of my visits with her after Dad passed away, I asked if she had a boyfriend yet. She looked at me as if I had grown an extra head, stuck out her tongue, and blew a big raspberry. I guess that was a no.
Two businessmen in Florida were taking a break from setting up their soon-to-be-opened new store. They weren’t very far along, and they only had a few shelves set up.
One said to the other, “I bet any minute now some senior is going to walk by, put his face to the window, and ask what we’re selling.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth when, sure enough, a curious senior walked up to the window, peeked inside and asked, “What are you sellin’ in there?”
One of the men replied sarcastically, “We’re selling idiots.”
Without missing a beat, the old timer said, “Business must be good – only two left.”
Sometimes I think the sense of humor is one of the last things to be lost when the memory goes. Even though Dad was a grouch a good bit of the time during his final years, there were moments when his wry wit surfaced. Frequently, when I told him to get ready for an appointment, he’d ask where we were going and why.
“You have a check-up with your memory doctor.” That was my euphemism for his neurologist.
He’d turn to Mom with a grin and say, “Do I have memory problems? I guess I forgot!”
“Sixty is the worst age to be,” said Bob. “I always feel like I have to pee, but most of the time I stand there and nothing comes out.”
“Ah, that’s nothing,” said Joe. “I’m 70, and I hardly have any bowel movements any more. I take laxatives, eat bran, sit on the toilet all day and nothin’ comes out!”
“Actually,” said John, “Eighty is the worst age of all.”
“Do you have trouble peeing, too?
“No, I pee every morning at 6:00. No problem at all.”
“So, do you have a problem with your bowel movements?”
“No, I have one every morning at 6:30.”
Exasperated, Bob said, “You pee every morning at 6:00 and poop every morning at 6:30. So what’s so bad about being 80?”
“I don’t wake up until 7:00!”
I won’t share any Mom and Dad stories on this one. If you’re a caregiver, you have plenty of your own. All I can say is that whoever invented Depends deserves several stars in his or her crown.