At Our Age ....

.... who knew that three little words .... I mean, really little .... heck there are only 8 letters total .... three eentsy words could make you blink .... and think .... "Ouch!"?
And then ..... damn!

So here's the story (cuz I know you're all just hanging here, waiting ..... hmmmmm, maybe I'll just close now and leave you really hanging ...... nah, I'm not that mean.  Well, not habitually),

I went to my PT appointment this morning.  For those of you young enough and healthy enough to not know what PT is ..... first, I hate you and second .... it's Physical Therapy .... or Physical Therapist, depending upon your context.
Now go jog or something.

For everyone else .... I went in for my appointment this morning ..... oops, have to digress here, again.
My appointment was at 9:00.
I had been up since 6:00.
Yes, as in A....M....
I know!
And that was because last night on ESPN2, the liars sportscasters said that the men's semi finals coverage would begin at 6:00 a.m. .... 7:00 eastern time, today.
So I set my alarm for 6:00.
A.M.
Yes, I'm a tool that way because no, I don't want to tape a live sporting event, only to find out how it ended when someone .... oh, let's say someone like ..... YOUR MOM ..... calls you up to say, "Can you believe that Roger lost the final?" ..... before you get the chance to watch it yourself.  I'm not really naming names here .... I'm just sayin'......
I hate watching a match once I know who won .... it's totally not the same because then it makes no sense at all for you to yell at the TV, hoping to encourage your player, or to say, "Are you KIDDING ME?!!!  Even I can hit it into the net!!!  And I don't get paid!!"
What?
Whatever.

So, I got up at 6:00 A.M. only to realize after about .... oh 30 minutes or so, that "coverage begins at 6:00 a.m., 7:00 eastern" REALLY means, "We start chatting amongst ourselves about our deep knowledge of the players and what they think at every shot, and who wore the worst outfit, or who wore the least amount of outfit, and hey, what do you think about the new roof, and so, can you believe Rafa's not playing in the Davis cup, and all kinds of stuff like that for over an hour so don't turn on the TV thinking you're going to be watching a live match at 6:00 a.m., 7:00 eastern ..... SUCKERS!"

Yes, I blame myself.
I should have known.

The match didn't begin ..... or at least ESPN2 did not start airing it until around 7:10 a.m., 8:10 eastern.
Which worked out well in the end because at least I didn't have an excuse to not shower today.
Don't judge.

So ..... 3 hours later ..... and yes, this post WILL end ....... I go to PT.  I'm feeling pretty good this morning (as you,  no doubt, have guessed by now).  I check in and head over to the little bike thing that's not really a bike but has pedals for your hands.  So your arms and shoulders get a work out.  That's my warm up.
Next to me is this cute little old man that I sat next to two days ago.  Today I smiled at him and said hello.  Wednesday I nodded and think I managed a smile, though wouldn't bet on it.  I was still hurting on Wednesday.
He was so cute.  He looks quite a lot like Mr. Magoo and if you're too young to know who Mr. Magoo is why are you here??  You were supposed to go jogging about 5 paragraphs ago!!!  Sheesh!!

He has a cute accent that I can't quite place and a great smile that lights up his eyes.
Once I smiled I guess that led him to think I was encouraging a conversation.
Whatever.
OK, kidding.
Today anyway.

He smiled brightly and leaned towards me and said, "At our age we're lucky.  We have an adult playground to go to!!"
And he looked so cute and sounded so cute that I almost didn't notice those first teeny, tiny three words.
I kept smiling and I think I may have nodded .... because about then those words were settling into my brain and I think my body forgot how to breathe, let alone make a sound, so the nodding may have been me starting to pass out from brain, not to mention ego, trauma.

Then my brain started racing.
"At our age??"  Is that really what that not-as-cute-as-he-was-30-seconds-ago little old man just said?
To me???
"At OUR age"?????
I glanced to my other side just to make sure that I really was on the very last machine, next to a wall, so he wasn't talking to anyone else.
I was.  And he wasn't.
Come ON!!!!

This guy is pushing 80, at least.
At the very least.
No matter how cute he is was.

I have no illusions about my age, or how old I look ..... but SERIOUSLY??????
I did a quick take of the room.  There were around 15 other patients.  One was a young girl in her early 20's (I assume, but then heck .... I could be totally wrong because I'm looking at least 80 to SOMEbody!) and was an athlete.  Her rocking body told me that.
Then there were 2 men who's age was questionable, but for the benefit of doubt let's just say they were younger than me.
That means that out of 16 people in the room, three were younger than me.
Number 4?
Me.
And I would guess (but .... you know .......) that I was younger than the next person by maybe 10 years.
And it only went up after that.  Way up.
So ..... you do the math.

Now I've never been a "math" person (and no,  I'm not blonde so just stop that right now.  I know several smart(ish) blonde people.  Kidding!), but even I can tell you that I wasn't even in the AVERAGE age range of that room!

So there you go.
Three little words from wee little man almost undid a week's worth of he-man steroids in my body.
And they definitely made my brain say, "Ouch!".
Followed by "Damn!"

Thanks for sticking around, Peeps, and for the encouragement, prayers and smiles.
I figured it was my turn.
And now, if you'll excuse me,  I have to turn to the internet and look up 'recapturing one's youth', 'health spas', or ..... just plain old 'plastic surgeons'.
Evidently there is much work to be done.

Happy Friday, Peeps.
And Happy July 4th Weekend.
Thank God for this country .... faults and all.
:)