It's the middle of November and that can only mean one thing. It's officially holiday season. That's right every Nov. 14 America settles in to celebrate one of its most beloved holidays. Of course, I'm talking about my birthday. Now, don't panic. I know many of you are saying things like: "Oh my gosh, is it his birthday again already?" and "Didn't I promise myself I was going to shop early this year?" and "Do you think he would mind if I just sent him a $1,000?"
The answer to all of those questions is yes (especially the last one).
In honor of this special occasion, many stores in America will stay open until 9 p.m. for your shopping convenience. And as always, please remember the Internet - The Source of All Truth - is open 24 hours a day.
So happy shopping.
I'll be turning 43 years old this year. And I don't feel a day older than 47.
Being 40-something reminds me of the Bowflex commercial a couple of years ago that featured a 42-year-old guy who claimed by doing Bowflex commercials (along with a proper diet of less than 478 calories a day) he was able to, and I quote, be "42 years old and in the best shape of my life."
I will have to admit that I've been 42 for pretty much a year now and I'm probably not in the best shape of my life. But, on the bright side, at least I don't have to make Bowflex commercials.
For those of you on the sunny side of 40, I have some things you can expect when you get to the shady side.
First off, let me say you will experience - How do I say this? - a few challenges once the body reaches four decades.
Your challenges could include but not limited to: effects of gravity and hair issues.
Now allow me to break this down.
Guys, take a look down your body right now. Just stand up and take a gander at your toes (just a reminder, they are at the end of your feet). That large obstruction between your neck and your toes is what many doctors call "effects of gravity" (or, depending on your geographic location, the "effects of gravy").
When you were in high school that big blob was your chest. Now, it's a giant puddle of goo sitting down there pushing your waistband down. It's not the end of the world, but it's close. You'll only notice this "effect" getting worse over the next few years. So, as King Solomon said, "I commend the enjoyment of life, because nothing is better for a man under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad."
I would add to that wisdom: at least once a day enjoy a Twinkie and a glass of grape Kool-Aid.
You will also probably notice lots of hair problems. The first problem is the hair turning a different color. When I was very young, my hair was mostly blonde. In high school and college, it got a little darker to what some might call a "mousy brown." Then around 30, my hair turned a color that Loreal lists as "lab rat white."
But I don't have a problem with gray hair. I think it looks distinguished, at least that's what the lady at Dairy Queen says when she gives me a free cup of coffee usually reserved for those over 55.
Some people will have that problem in connection with other hair issues. Most notably falling out. Many of you will find your shower drain clogged with what was only yesterday part of your cowlick. That's okay though.
Mother Nature has designed a nice trade-off for hair loss. Hair growing wildly in other places where you least expect - or desire. For instance, on your back and shoulders, in your ears and nose, above your eyes and maybe the most pronounced, on your toes and feet.
My advice would be to take a pair of scissors or other trimming device (a sharp gardening utensil works in a pinch) and do just a little manscaping. Manscaping is the act of trimming out-of-control hair on a man. Do it. You're wife will thank you. You will thank you. And the lady at Dairy Queen will only charge you 75 cents for coffee.
Aging isn't really that big a deal anymore. People now say that 50 is the new 35. Forty is the new 30. Twenty-five is the new 18. And 18 is the new 10.
People in marketing trying to make young people catch up with older people, including Miley Cyrus pole-dancing at her concerts and 8-year-olds who read "Seventeen."
In just a few short years, 40 will be the new 25. Twenty-five will be the new 13. And 13 will be the new fetus.
We'll have seventh-grade classrooms full of nearly six-foot tall fetuses. They will set at their desk all day long and suck knowledge from the amniotic fluid of their teachers. Class rolls will have to be checked using an ultrasound. It'll just be weird.
Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I really want a Bowflex for my birthday.
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