I just realized about 20 minutes ago that I’m sitting outside with a blanket on my legs, looking at Prostate Cancer Screening FAQs. It occurred to me that with a black hoodie, a worn out Beastie Boys shirt, shorts, a black brace on my left ankle and a San Francisco Giants blanket wrapped tightly around my legs, I look like a fucking poor man’s Adam Sandler.

It wasn’t brought on by any post or work project. I was searching because I wasn’t sure when I needed to start getting checked for things like that. It’s not that the whole taking care of yourself thing isn’t a good idea. It really is. I’m more concerned about when this line of thinking became a priority for a guy who hasn’t seen the inside of a doctor’s office in years.

Ugh.

“When do I need to let doctors start finger banging my asshole?” ~my thought as I take this picture repeatedly, hoping for a better result. Christ, I have a fat face.

The number of grey hairs I have in my beard and hair are adding up at an alarming rate. The Blonde Bombshell doesn’t mind it. In fact, she thinks it’s sexy. She also sneezed in my mouth once. What the hell does she know? (kidding: a lot. way more than me.)

There are real insecurities that come from this realization. You start making those statements. You know the ones: “I’m way too old for this.” “Back in my day…” “Wow, I’m getting old…” “My balls dropped into the toilet water…”

Men older than me would retort: “Oh man, you don’t know the half of it.” or “I wish I were your age again… you’ve got it good.”

Do me a favor and just shut the fuck up already with that? Can’t I be miserable about this sudden self-awareness? Can’t I pout about moving up an age group, knowing that I’m inching closer to the time when AARP sends out a gentle reminder that I need to start wrapping up my personal affairs?

This should be the moment that snaps me out of this suburban daydream — I should go running every day, telling myself I’m going to run a marathon or jump out of a plane or some stupid shit like that.

But I don’t want any of that stuff.

I wanna make sure my asshole doesn’t fall off* and kill me for all the shit I’ve put it through. (Ha.)

Is that too much to ask?


*That’s a thing, right?