Post by gato on Jul 11, 2021 6:23:49 GMT -5
Shortly after I retired (1999) I noticed something. At 51 there was gray hair creeping out of my scalp. At first, the hairs were widely spaced and I just yanked them out. This annoyed them. They bean emerging more quickly and insistently; in fact, they now had spread to my moustache. Then, the gray began to turn white. At first, I consoled myself with the knowledge that my brother was almost completely bald, as my father had been ,as a not so young man. But this was MY hair! For decades I had proudly flaunted the uniform standards of my law enforcement agency, with my overly long tresses, earning snippets in my yearly evaluations that said I was "averse to scissors."
The young lady who had been doing my hair trims for years, suggested I try a mild dye job. I resisted at first, but eventually caved in, opting for a light brown. Unfortunately, she left the magic stuff on my hair and mustache too long. I went from blazing white to dark brown inside of an hour. It looked ridiculous. I felt like the guy we've all seen, who wears the mismatched toupee, with two distinct hair colors.
People I knew (like the band members) looked startled, but no one actually accused me of a mid life crisis dye job. I let the white stuff on my cranial lawn and face turf return to what it had been. And why not? While that was going on, I now beheld a new horror: sagging eyelids! Sir Isaac Newton had joined the battle, and on the wrong side. I briefly considered one of "those surgical procedures" to head those droopsters off at the pass, but then pictured myself with a skin-stretched look of permanent surprise on my face, like those featured on certain aging red carpet celebrities.
As the face droop continues, I have gone all in on my exercise program, with some success. In fact, I actually have some abs. The problem is that they lurk under an unwelcome layer of flab. The only way they're going to be exposed to the babes on the beach, is if one of them walks up and pokes me in the gut: "hey, that's quite a six pack you're got under there, old timer!" An unlikely scenario at best. More likely I'd be set upon by Greenpeace as a beached whale.
How have you, my aging Moe's brothers, taken to the, "it's all downhill from here" period of life?
The young lady who had been doing my hair trims for years, suggested I try a mild dye job. I resisted at first, but eventually caved in, opting for a light brown. Unfortunately, she left the magic stuff on my hair and mustache too long. I went from blazing white to dark brown inside of an hour. It looked ridiculous. I felt like the guy we've all seen, who wears the mismatched toupee, with two distinct hair colors.
People I knew (like the band members) looked startled, but no one actually accused me of a mid life crisis dye job. I let the white stuff on my cranial lawn and face turf return to what it had been. And why not? While that was going on, I now beheld a new horror: sagging eyelids! Sir Isaac Newton had joined the battle, and on the wrong side. I briefly considered one of "those surgical procedures" to head those droopsters off at the pass, but then pictured myself with a skin-stretched look of permanent surprise on my face, like those featured on certain aging red carpet celebrities.
As the face droop continues, I have gone all in on my exercise program, with some success. In fact, I actually have some abs. The problem is that they lurk under an unwelcome layer of flab. The only way they're going to be exposed to the babes on the beach, is if one of them walks up and pokes me in the gut: "hey, that's quite a six pack you're got under there, old timer!" An unlikely scenario at best. More likely I'd be set upon by Greenpeace as a beached whale.
How have you, my aging Moe's brothers, taken to the, "it's all downhill from here" period of life?
