Forty

Forty

By Frederick J. Blahnik

When I was just ten years old…….

I saw this geezer down by the lake one day.

The old fart was gray around the temples, had the beginnings of a beer belly—I heard through the grapevine that the superannuated son-of-a-bitch had even fought in World War II (where they probably used spears and catapults for weapons)!

This man was ancient, I tell you, a relic from the past…..a fuckin’ living fossil…..a true brontosaur!

I bet he was at least forty years old!!!

When I was twenty years old…….

I saw this middle-aged guy at college one day.

He was tooling around campus in a red convertible, chasing after young coeds—y’know, I was actually embarrassed for the immature, detestable creep.

The old coot was old enough to be their dad–perhaps even a granddad if he had his eyes trained on one of the freshmen babes.

Hell, he could easily have been forty years old!!!

When I was thirty years old……..

And driving to work one day, I saw this overweight fellow jogging down a bike path sans a shirt.

He was sweating profusely, his oversized tits sagged just like a woman’s and, what’s more, those grotesque flabby appendages bounced crazily to and fro every time his feet smacked the ground.

This ugly freak of nature presented a tawdry spectacle to my ambushed, unaccustomed eyes; I wouldn’t have traded places with the poor slob for a million dollars.

He epitomized one of those conceited forty-year-olds you see all the time–hopelessly trapped in a youthful time warp–struggling in vain to defy his genetic destiny!!!

Last week I stopped at the supermarket after work for a few groceries.

I ran into an old high school classmate I hadn’t seen in years.

We talked about old times–“the glory days”–about how quickly the years and decades and succession of presidents had flown by.

This guy looked great, quite youthful actually, not much different than I remembered him as an All-Conference running back on the varsity football team our senior year.

As we said our good-byes, he mentioned that he would be turning forty years old next week.

Forty years old?

FORTY YEARS OLD?!?!?!

Are you absolutely positive?!?!?!?!

HE’S turning forty?!?!

HIM?!?!?!?!?!?!

My high school classmate…..a good friend of mine back when we were wild teenagers growing up together…..a kid with whom I walked down our gymnasium aisle not that many years ago, we listened semi-attentively as a monotonous speaker struggled to explain why the occasion in question was in fact a “commencement” rather than an ending despite every voice inside me screaming otherwise, and then my buddy and I together with every other member of our graduating class paraded triumphantly back down that same aisle out into the exhilaratingly fresh spring air to conquer the world which was waiting expectantly for our grandiose debut.

IMPOSSIBLE!!!!!!!!!! 

Utterly fuckin’ impossible, I tell you!!!!!

THIS………CANNOT.………BE!!!!!!!!!!

Why, the fellow standing in front of me now at a Fred Meyer supermarket still looks sprightly and virile and a trifle pugnacious……exactly the same as he did back in high school!!!

I guess forty can’t be that old anymore……

I must’ve been wrong all those other times in the past.

Yesterday I attended a business seminar down at the convention center.

One of the guys there was bitching and complaining about everything under the sun.

He had a three-vessel heart bypass operation last spring, he’ll probably need to have his right knee replaced sometime soon, his prostate is grossly inflamed and going straight to hell and now he has an irresistible urge to piss all the time.

The poor bastard! 

His whole body is falling to pieces all around him even as he continues inhabiting that pitiful, decrepit thing.                                                

Staring at this feeble guy for a few seconds, it was easy to appreciate the sad dilemma he’s facing…….

Why, I’d bet all of my next paycheck plus some that the whiny old graybeard isn’t a day under sixty!!