Every kid has a secret ambition. Some yearn to be brave fighter pilots, valiant firemen, super cops, sturdy baseball heroes or wealthy rock stars.
Not I. Instead of hoping to be the next Elvis Presley or Babe Ruth, I always wanted to be the next Johnny Carson. My heroes way back then were such funny guys as the Marx Brothers, Flip Wilson, Jack Benny and Red Skelton. Even Bill Cosby.
Sadly, the closest I came to being a comedian was writing boring ads, sales pitches and scripts at an insurance company for 25 years. I also wrote stirring speeches for boozy corporate execs to recite from teleprompters. Looking back, I realize my stuff then was often very funny, but not intentionally.
Now, at almost 90, I can scribble all the humor I want and post it out here in cyberspace. Of course, at this advanced age, my subject today is … what else? … getting old. Now, here’s the opening line on each below phrase: You realize you’re very, very, very old when…
A pretty girl smiles at you, then helps you cross the street.
You go to the airport just get into the security line, because it’s the only way these days anyone will touchie-feelie you.
After a shower, you squint in the mirror at your nude body and wonder why you’re wearing blotchy, saggy, wrinkled, winter underwear.
When watching favorite TV sit-com reruns, you realize the entire casts, including the then-little kids, died of old age decades ago.
Walking down the street, you wonder why all those crazy young people talk to themselves while holding tiny boxes up to their ears.
At a funeral service, the embalmer looks at you with his head tilted, and recommends you shouldn’t bother going home.
Oh, and one more. You find yourself too often repeating yourself, repeating yourself, repeating y……