The Rittenhouse Review

A Philadelphia Journal of Politics, Finance, Ethics, and Culture

Friday, June 04, 2004  

You Know You’re Getting Old When . . .

Gee whiz, I’m getting old and I don’t even realize it. Hell, I’m getting old and I don’t even feel like it, physically (well, maybe sometimes) or otherwise (I still feel like a country-bumpkin kid finding his way in the world).

Anyway, this is the latest in my series of “Overheards,” and one in which I myself am involved.

Here’s the setting: I’m sitting on a bench in a little park-like space in Old City, Philadelphia, just sort of thinking about the world, a meditation that, you will not be surprised to learn, puts a frown, nay, a scowl, on my face.

The following interaction occurs:

Very Attractive Twenty-something Woman: Hey, why so glum?

Me: Oh, I don’t know, nothing really.

Very Attractive Twenty-something Woman (handing me some sort of coupon): Come to Coyote Ugly tonight. You’ll have fun!

Me: Uh, okay, thanks. [You know, it’s just that sort of lame response that has kept me from scoring with the really hot chicks for two decades now.]

Twenty-something Man on a Bicycle (swooping down on me): Hey, what’s she handing out?

Me: I don’t know, something for a bar or a club or something. Have it.

Twenty-something Man on a Bicycle: Cool. Thanks, old man.

“Old man”?

“Old man”?!

You’ll excuse me now, won’t you?

There’s a warm bath waiting for me, a tub into which I just might open a vein or two.

The Rittenhouse Review | Copyright 2002-2006 | PERMALINK |