Growing old with Girlfriend

One of the great advantages of getting older is the ability to pretend you are losing your hearing. I have finally entered that secret society where the men of my family that started saying...“ehhh?”, long before their retirement. I now understand why my father and grandfather, after mumbling it,  were always smiling.

“Bernie, did you forget about playing bridge with the Herberts?”. I too just smile.

Of course, sharing the same interests with my girlfriend, as we get older,  is something I cherish.  We have always had a mutual love for travel, animals and the environment. Lately, however, we have added reading glasses, bran and naps to our common interests. We still talk about exercise but it is no longer scuba diving or kayaking. Now I hear how far away I parked from the Macy’s front door and how she doesn’t have the right shoes for this type of exertion... (never understood why anything on your foot should not be for walking). We still take our daily constituitons but instead of a thinner waste, we do it for digestion.

I think it is one of life’s ironies that when it becomes important to read the ingredient labels on boxes, the print is too small. And when you can afford the many nice restaurants, the light is often too faint to make out the menu. I often ask the waiter what he recommends, not because I care for his opinion but rather as a way to find out what is on the menu. Italian restaurants are the worst. They seem to feel if they italicize a few words or drop a little Italian in each sentence the food is going to taste more like your grandmothers.

My daughter has taught me one very important lesson. Never eat at a restaurant that has pictures of the food. Never once did you come home for dinner and upon asking, were you handed photos. Don’t change what works. Of course going to eat at 4-5 pm has its advantages. You usually get to see the waitress tie on a clean apron as her shift is just beginning and the menus have not become scratch and sniff cards from a bad John Water's film. There are only lines when the local Grizzler has their ‘Seniors eat for Half Price Thursdays’. They are a pretty shrewd company, however.  First, they offer a whole host of menu items that fall into the ‘Oh…I can’t eat that’ category… or more often you will hear my girlfriend say much louder than normal,  “Bernie, don’t eat that …you know what happens when you eat that!”

                                                                                                                                                          Actually I do, it will irritate the hell out of her. There is a theory that matches were intended to make starting fires easier. Frankly, it was to keep one bathroom marriages intact.

Any early buffet is a study in silver, blue, yellow and the no hairs. The first and last need not mention. The middle two, however, must come from some chemical reaction used somewhere in the preening process. The blue I kind of get, blue is really very close to the color white. Yellow just seems avoidable. My grandmother said it was from men using hair tonic. I asked her why it never turned my grandfather’s thick mane yellow. “Because your grandfather never put it on his hair, he drank his”.
Secrets from the grave; the makers of my family were starting to reveal their secrets. I still remember when I found my first gray hair. I was 50. Thankfully, I found it on my girlfriend's head.

My girl's sense of humor has deepened too. She thinks she knows what my jokes are going to be and I make an effort to be original. “You’re not funny”, is her favorite comment and every time she does,I respond with the multi cultural response,  “Oh yeah? Well pull my finger!”
An act of  self-preservation she has never acted upon. I plan on saying that to her when I am on my death bed. She will say no at first but she will then acquiesce since it will be my final wish. Understand I have planned this for 20 years. I just want to be able to use the punch line after she pulls my finger...

“Man…it smells like death in here”.  Get it...? I am on my death bed? I know...I can hear my girlfriend now,“You're not funny”.

I was asked if we were going to be buried together in matching plots. I say why would I want to spend all eternity sleeping next to her when we have separate bedrooms now?  Hard to believe I would be asked this when I have one foot nearing the grave. I am getting too old for two steps forward and one step backward. She did promise, though,  that if I die first she was going to have my gravestone engraved with...

"Now, that was funny"  

Dating in the Drive Thru...

It was bad enough that I was going on a date in my 40's, let alone my fourth blind date in the last year. No one plans such things. Instead of feeling 15 because of  butterflies in my stomach, I felt 15 because she picked me up in her mini van. It was like 8th grade all over again, I expected her mother to appear in the backseat but, that would occur later.

It was the Sunday after Christmas and only the Grocery store and McDonald's had their lights on. Since I wanted to show her the town, I made sure to take her to both places.  We pulled into the fast-food restaurant and she asked if I wanted to go in, or use the drive thru. I said we should go inside to get the full experience. ( I was hoping Ronald's Playroom was closed, nothing worse than an inflexible 40 year old being asked to show off ). I ordered and handed the pimply teenager 10 dollars for the meals and he asked me if my date qualified for the McDiscount for Senior citizens. I shook my head and reached in my pocket to handed him my man card.  Apparently as I approached my 50's, I wouldn't need it anymore. I took my tray and grabbed the brochure for the discounted McCoffin.

We sat down with our plastic meals and she asked if she could call her mother.
I said, " Why, it's still light out ?"
She smiled and said, " She just wants to know if I made it all right"
I asked, " Does she know you are on blind date?"
"No, are you crazy?" ( I never answer that question).
Being the gentleman, I told her to go ahead but, first I asked her if she wanted some fries with her phone call. She politely refused. I realized I might be making too big of a deal of McDonald's, I would hate to get naked later and have her ask me if I would super-size it.

As she nibbled and as I gorged, she kept asking all the necessary questions. Why did I live where I live, What do I do for a living, Why did I come to this state, Why did my home look like a crack house? I can answer all pre-coital questions with one answer, " I don't know" (and that is not being a smart ass). I then mumbled something about how most things I do seem like a good idea at the time. I didn't ask her much but, questions. but when I did it was well thought out.

"How many of your friends did you give my home address to?"
"All of them" She smiled.

Later, as the coffee was almost finished she starting telling me about her ex-husband and why her marriage didn't work.
"You know, that is taboo on the first date", I mentioned.
"What is?" She asked.
"Talking about your ex. I never talk about my ex's.  I prefer to show pictures, here" , I reached for my wallet.
"Oh my God...You are kidding , right ? " Her mouth dropped to the Hamburgler place mat.
" Yes, I am kidding", shaking my head in disbelief, " the pictures are nudes and they never leave the house!"

McDonald's was changing from Breakfast to their Lunchtime fare and this excitement was making me think about dinner.  I asked her if she could drive me to the Grocery Store so I could buy a frozen entree. I of course asked if she too would like a frozen dinner. She said she would, so we placed our trays away and we headed to her child carrier. She clicked the beeper and the van unlocked as the side panel door slid open. I half expected 2 guys wearing masks to jump out and grab me.
"That's great for dry cleaning",  she pointed out. I looked back at the kid who now owned my Man card . He was wiping our table and waving to me.
"Travel well my young friend, travel well" , I thought.

On to the second tier of the date...I suppose that standing in front of the freezer section was a good time to get to know about each other. It became obvious that neither one of us liked vegetables. We were only staring at frozen meat. Would she pick a Lean cuisine ( God, I hoped not) or a Hungry man ( God, I hoped not ). I refused to pull out my coupons or to guide her to the items that were discounted if I used my Clown Town Buyers Card. She seemed aware of my peril since she handed me a box and said " Here, this one is on sale" I let slip, " Excellent !". We grabbed a large beverage and we moved to the cashier. I was hoping my gold plated debit card was impressing her. I decided not to use my food stamp card, even though it was prettier. The sale went through which was like an omen for a second date. What could go wrong now?

Now, she had already seen my house which begs the question as to why she was willing to return. It occurred to me why she liked her automatic side door, she was going to do a drive by and I was going to be tossed onto the never mowed front lawn. She had seen my chipped tooth and apparently was impressed how it made me whistle whether I wanted it to or not.

I live in a 3 bedroom house in one of the nicer neighborhoods in this sleepy town but, the previous owner was doing time. The windows are all painted ( and I mean the glass, not the wood frames ) and every room looks like a lion was ill fed and not allowed to leave. There is wall paper missing and gouge marks that would frighten a bear. What ever remodeling was attempted was done by a dyslexic Bob Vila. I was tempted to look under the new hard wood floors to see if there was carpet.The first floor was a vision into WW2 London with all the bombing and heat peeled wall paper.
Ever aware about creating mood, I started a fire by putting in a starter log and newspaper.  I did not have any wood.  She said she would do anything for a roaring fire. I started breaking up some of the furniture. I burnt my finger lighting trying to add awkward pieces of my futon. I shrieked smoothly and just said fires make me sing like Prince. The blaze became impressive but the lacquer treated wood did not smell so good.

Did she end up seeing the 2nd floor?  A gentleman never discusses these things... but the date did end well and I know this since she called me the next day and not the police.

 

Need dating help? Well, you are screwed but here are some links ...


http://advice.eharmony.com/article/dating-older-women-8-things-you-need-to-know.html

http://articles.cnn.com/2010-05-24/living/tf.rules.dating.older.man_1_older-dating-age-difference?_s=PM:LIVING

http://ezinearticles.com/?Why-You-Should-Meet-Older-Women-For-Dating&id=5407800

No One Gets Out Of Here Alive

No one goes to a health clinic in the hopes of meeting someone. You certainly don’t think about finding a new friend while you are in the STD line. You don’t stand for food stamps if you can afford to put something on your table and you don’t stand in the HIV express lane if you are behaving sexually. All right, let’s get this out of the way. Sex is cool and great, heck every thing that has ever lived has done it (or tried)… It is right up there with eating, a necessity. Should you do it only if you are married? Who knows such things? I do know that married men and women sleep around in numbers that would shock you. I know of one person who has stayed faithful for 30 years and he is the angriest man I know. That is just my experience.

I went to the clinic because I was asked to go. No, I didn’t get the dreaded phone call from the County Health Service representative saying that someone that was infected had turned in my name. That would have implied that I actually had had sex. And that would be real humor. Instead, I was actually trying to be responsible and before the next time I did engage, I would know that I was safe. Like a pitcher warming up in the 5th inning, I thought I was soon going to get in the game.

The problem was I came with the girl I was thinking of sleeping with. We were holding hands as we were waiting to be called. We had gotten there at 8 am, we were the first appointments. It is great to feel like a priority at an STD Clinic. Since anonymity is paramount and is even the law, I was given the secret code of # 1 and my new friend was # 2. We sat behind a really attractive woman, who was # 3.
My clinic date said “Wow, she has really pretty hair.” I was not looking or trying to notice anyone, I already felt like I was at the prom with my mother…but hey, she brought it to my attention, so I added “And Legs”. What does it say to the other clients when you get elbowed in the main waiting room? It looked like we had just been handed our results and it was entirely my fault.

“Number One, can you please follow me?’ Nothing fits my ego better than this label. I was led into a poorly lit room. I sat with a counselor and he asked me about my sex life.
“That is a little personal, don’t you think?” I asked him.
“I am only here to help” He deadpanned.
“Really...Could you give me some numbers of loose women?”
He said nothing. If girls knew how we men thought, they would never speak to us. Then he said, “You know, with express, you can find out your results in 30 minutes, but you are down for the full examination, which will take 2 weeks. “
“I haven’t had sex in 16 months, what is 2 weeks?” I lied, 2 weeks would seem like the same amount of time it would take Pluto to orbit the Sun. He finished my history and apparently came to the same conclusion as the initial intake, express service was not for me. He initialed that I was to give every possible sample, including a brain sample.
“Does the brain sample hurt?’ I asked.
“Normally, but it is pretty clear you haven’t been using yours, you’ll be fine”

I was first asked to sit in the ‘we will need you to urinate section’ all by myself. This is cool since most men have trouble urinating when others are around anyway.
“Number 1 ? Is Number 1 here ? I need Number 1's blood”, A small Vietnamese woman asked. I looked to my left and right. I was still the only one in the room.
“I am Number 1, but I thought I was supposed to go #1 before the blood letting occurred?
“You do number 1 second, first we take blood” she said. I just shook my head and followed her into a morgue like hallway. It was freezing.
‘Why is it so cold in here?” I asked.
“Keeps the germs down” she said.
“I guess that’s why no on gets sick in Canada” I chuckled and continued.
“Do you use needles or leeches to get the blood?” She gave that grinned shut up look. She needed to confirm who I was before she put my blood in a vial.
"Your name?”
“I am the One”
“Yes I know, but what is your real name?”
“Bernie, its Bernie Home. But who is number One?" I asked.
“You are” she smiled. I was finally being appreciated.
She swabbed my arm with alcohol, which takes 10 minutes to kill the germs but the needle was in within seconds.

I was then asked to go a different waiting room . I was again alone until the cute #3 with the pretty hair and legs came by. She waved like a cheerleader. I waved back less enthusiastically. I then was asked to go into another room with a dark skinned older woman.
“I am going to check you for everything” she said.
“Why, do I have that look on my face?” She just pointed to a chair.
“First I will check for moles, since we live in Florida and then I will check your scrotum.” I had never heard moles and scrotum used in the same sentence. My moles checked out and she asked me to drop my pants. I felt like a crack whore as my shorts wrapped around my ankles. She said I should check my testicles at least once a month for growths. “Honey, I have not left them alone since I was 12”. I didn’t care what I said at this point, I was trying to deflect my uncomfortableness with humor. She then pulled out a Q-tip as long as an elephant’s trunk.
“What is that for?” I winced.
“I have to check for chlamydia and gonorrhea by putting this inside your urethra.”
“Urethra? Didn’t they just play in the World Cup?”, I yelped. I knew she meant my penis but I have never considered it as having an orifice and yes, I took anatomy.
“I would rather you check my prostrate!”
“That I will check next but this will take just a second"
“A minute?” I cried. "Time just stopped for me!”
This is where the phrase, I wouldn't touch you with a 10 foot pole comes from. This q-tip was obviously left over from the Nazi’s. This was just unbelievable.
“All guys have this done, don’t worry” she added
“No they don’t!" I yelled. "I would have heard about this, that I am sure!”
In her next minute, I nearly blacked out and I called for my mother at least 3 times. I was never going to have sex again.
"Time for prostrate" She smiled.
Then I heard the plastic glove slap on. Then I heard another one snap on. I whipped around. She was grinning with both hands covered in gloves.

" Why two gloves?" I shrilled. " Are you going spelunking?"
"You very funny!" She said. I called for my mother one last time.

I was back in a third waiting room, fairly sure I had left some part of my manhood in that small torture cell. My clinic date joined me and asked “How is it going?’
“How is it going?” I said with the look of death. “I envy pin cushions right now. I am thinking that a 2 week stay in 1940's Dachau would be a relief..and those gorgeous breasts of yours…I wouldn’t touch them with a 10 foot pole! No offense!”
I got up to pay my bill and walk away. While I was in line waiting to pull out my wallet, number 3 danced behind me with a bubbly smile.
“Hey” she said.
“Hey? “ I asked.
“Do you want my number?” she smiled.

"That's okay" I said. "I think I already know your number."



Stay Tooned... Next, Bernie goes camping with a long time friend and closet homosexual...





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