Forty Three

I will be turning 43 on April 10.  Please save your well-wishing.  Within a week of turning 40 everything started going down hill.  My already grey hair turned greyer; I would physically injure myself doing the most trivial of tasks, like stepping off a curb, and I take much longer to heal.  I started having more "senior moments" where I would forget what I just did more "senior moments" where I would forget what I just did just did (a joke - not sloppy editing).  I seemed to have aged dramatically over night.

Now, I am on the threshold of 43 and things aren't getting any easier:

• I'm at the age where I have to start worrying about my prostate, which reminds me that I have to find a doctor with smaller fingers;
• I have cholesterol issues that my doctor has given me until the beginning of June to address through lifestyle changes;
• Speaking of doctors, when did they all become so young?
• When I get up from sitting, my bones crack like someone's letting loose with automatic gun fire. 
• People are calling me "Mister" and, worse, "Sir"; 
• I need bifocals, maybe even trifocals; 
• I now drive a minivan, or as I now like to call it, a swagger wagon; 
• I ache all the time;
• Tweed is suddenly an appealing fashion choice;
• Elderly widows look at me like so much fresh meat.

Whoever said 40 is the new 30 must be tripping out on acid.  Anyway, I guess I'll skate through middle age with my head up.