While most old men are described with
adjectives such as "distinguished,"
"wise" or "surprisingly regular in the bathroom," I hope when I'm among
the
elderly, I'm known for my "random moments of lunacy."
As of this moment, I'm anticipating homelessness at best for my future.
But
should I somehow get a job and support myself until my 70s, I plan on
having
the time of my life while aging by amusing myself in every way a wily
old man
should. I mean, what else am I going to do between soap operas? Or as I
will
refer to them: "My stories."
Assuming I start taking more than 12 hours per semester, I should fly
out of
college in 17 or maybe even 16 years. Using all of the skills I've
learned through
advanced journalism courses and internships, I should be prepared to
manage
a failing sporting goods store in Utah. Once financial instability is
out of the way,
I'll be able to focus on the next big step in life: marriage.
I plan on having a small, dignified wedding. Only a few close friends
and family
members will be invited (the ones with money). After the wedding, I'll
gather the
rice and escort my wife to my Schwinn, or whatever I'll be driving at
that point,
and we'll retire to a hotel room. And I'm talking one of those fancy
hotel rooms
with locks on the doors.
Because I believe true love should endure unfair, random tests, I will
do the
following on my wedding night:
1. Carry my wife over the threshold.
2. Strip to boxers and "wife-beater" style shirt.
3. Sit in front of the TV.
I will then ask my wife to get me a beer.
If her first reaction is to laugh
at this situation, she's a keeper. I will then
take her to the bedroom where she will be hauntingly disappointed. If
she is
offended by my
little test, I'll take her right back to our glorious wedding
chapel where the same Elvis impersonator who married us will give us a
divorce.
I will then go to the buffet.
I'll skip my 30s because those years usually revolve around
having/supporting
babies. And we all know my stance on supporting. I plan on working
throughout
my middle-aged years because I enjoy eating and I'll need all that
money to
support the thousands of pigeons I plan to own by the time I'm 60.
I hope to earn some nickname like "Wild Man" and become the bane of all
children in my neighborhood. I will haunt their daily lives with
examples of my
random old-codger-ness.
"I saw Wild Man at Target," children will tell each other at
sleepovers. "He was
buying four gallons of Wesson and a gross of protractors."
I plan on staying in shape, so I'll also do things like run around the
block with a
rope tied around my waist. Attached to the other end of the rope and
dragging
along the ground will be a different style of hat each week. Week one
I'll use
something unassuming like a derby.
Unfortunately, as an elderly man I'll be susceptible to things like
being old. I'll
be forced to go on a strict diet of creamed corn, which totally
conflicts with my
current strict diet of regular corn.
I'm sure death might become an issue eventually, but I'm not too
worried about it.
To be honest, even at present I actually have no fear of dying. But
ironically, I
have a tremendous fear of crapping my own pants. So I don't plan on
allowing my
body to quite reach that point of "old."
Once I feel my time on this earth has been long enough, I'll suddenly
take an
interest in skydiving. After hours of lessons, it'll be time for my
first jump. Once
in the sky, I'll distract my instructor by showing him my ancient
nipple, or something. After he recoils in horror, I'll awkwardly
shamble out the plane door while yelling something like "I'm senile!"
I'll "forget" to pull my cord while aiming for a barn roof.
About 400 feet before impact, I plan on completely flattening my body
with all four
of my limbs extended. All of this will be in effort to creating the perfect
Tim-shaped hole in the roof of the barn.
Naturally there won't be any hay in the barn because it will be a
poultry farm.
After this, I imagine I'll burn in hell for eternity.
©2005 Tim Landry
