Home Forums Hunting & Shooting Hunter's Campfire Geezer threads got me wondering.........

I don't think I'm a geezer yet, even though most around me probably think otherwise........

and if they drive 25 mph in a 45 zone, they ARE a geezer..

Or, if they drive through the front wall of the corner convience store 'cause they couldn't remember where the brake pedal was, they are a geezer!

Slummy,

GFY!!!

When the little head quits working and the big head doesn't care about it.

When you're given the senior discount on your coffee at McD's
without asking - and you're not offended

It all depends - - -

> https://www.valuevalet.ca/images/upc/z/204792.JPG <

I know I entered "Geezerdom" when sometime after my 65th birthday, I looked in the mirror to shave and an old man looked back at me. I wish he would get-to-hell out of the way !

I'd like to take this opportunity to wish all the other geezers on the Campfire a Happy New Year !

Oh man! I entered the ranks of the geezer elite sometime between age 60 and 65. At age 62 my suture lines increased by about a foot from spinal cord surgery, and from there my grumpy quotient increased by 62.4%. My pet peeves are being asked questions by the missus, that I know if I answer, I'll be pestered for weeks. Questions about things that need fixing, paperwork that needs filing, or some damned physician's appointment she wants me to schedule. The older you get the more they want to stick things in various orifices that were perfectly happy being ignored. Those of you who watch the NatGeo Wild Channel's show "The Incredible Doctor Pol" know what I mean. Poor cows!

Then there's just about everything in life today that's an annoyance. Things such as smartphones glued to ears, or little Bluetooth thingies that cause people to walk around talking to themselves that remind me of people who used to carry on conversations with giant rabbits named Harvey or unicorns in the garden. Then there's what I call urban jungle thump music, and others call rap or Hip Hop. I turned my hearing aids up once to catch the lyrics, and promptly back down, when it became obvious that some inter-dimensional warp had opened between Hades and Earth.

Then there's television commercials. Since when did the white American male become the object of ridicule? In these commercials they never seem to know the answer to anything and have to be instructed by a wife, girlfriend, counter person, smart ass kid or a refugee from some exotic faraway land. And then there's the products that once were taboo, the stuff that resided behind the pharmacy counter. Stuff that the customer just handed a prescription or hand scrawled note to the pharmacist, lest they have to ask out loud for embarrassing stuff, and waited while the pharmacist ducked behind his wall of secrecy and dropped the offending product in a brown paper bag, a brown bag mind you, not even a white bag with the store's name printed on it. I really don't want to know about yeast infections or absorbancy of various absorbent products, or even little pills you take so you can bathe in dual bath tubs with a woman on a beach at sunset. Have you ever sat in a bathtub with sand in the bottom? How abrasive can that be?

Then there was the time I was driving along in my new truck only to have the Driver Information Center light up and begin an annoying dinging alarm. I looked down and it told me my turn signal was on! Oh my gosh, they put a old man alarm on the thing. After driving nearly a mile with the signal on, it tells the old fogey to turn it off. I felt humiliated, betrayed as a geezer by my truck.

But the worse thing that happened, positively the lowest point in my life so far, is realizing that I became the old guy in the grocery store line that I hated when I was younger.

I became a card carrying Curmudgeon a little over a year ago when I woke up one sunny August morning and realized that I didn't have to go to work. Or the next day. Or the next. I had time for another few cups of coffee. The lake was calling. There were things needing to be done...when I got around to it. Maybe tomorrow. Geezerhood has its perks.

This ^. This is what I'm looking forward to.

If you have to ask, you're past the point of no return.

Even the kids who aren't my grandkids call me "Gramps"!

And I see it as a sign of respect!

It's hard to beat the life of the Seven-Day Weekend, PVT. After I decide what to have for breakfast, the major job of the day is to flick my little spinner to see if the arrow lands on Fish, Golf, or Nap.

13 years, give or take. If the good Lord allows the time and I don't fudge up the 401K.