Thursday, September 24, 2015


Chances are many middle-aged men who live a lifestyle of the rich and famous have been to their surgeon once or twice for some surgery of the plastic variety.  It's sometimes also known as cosmetic surgery and for many, it's a cost of doing business.

Take a look at aging macho men actors like Sylvester Stallone, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Chuck Norris and others of the famous middle-aged man vintage; it's a guarantee they've had their faces trimmed and wrinkles ridded. 

There's nothing wrong with having something like this done even though this middle-aged man currently professes how he can't imagine plastic surgery being on his short-term or long-term To Do List.

Remember, this is a middle-aged man who jokingly sees a 16-year old kid when looking in a mirror.  Images of 16-year-old kids are, for the most part, wrinkle-free.

Nonetheless, when this middle-aged man has a rigorously-honest bright light on during daily morning encounters with his faithful Fountain of Youth bathroom mirror, assuming he's wearing his seeing-up-close eyeglasses, he sees and acknowledges an aging face in progress; one with fine-line wrinkles starting to make a regular appearance on skin that has become a bit old and lacking the youthful elasticity and shine from its glorious yesteryear past.

"Oh the good old days" whimpers his aging skin that now has a dependable sag to it, "Where hast thou gone?"

You know, it's just a matter of time before this sag takes on a mind of its own and starts asserting itself in places never-before imaginable.

Like my chin for example and that vast aging-skin "wasteland" below it.  This area that used to sport a youthful Adam's Apple may slowly become a fertile orchard for a fruitful bounty of what can best be described as "turkey gobble".

When this day comes, this sagging-skin appendage south of my chin will be my badge of honor of having made it this far, and also a glimmer of hope that this middle-aged man has more gracefully-aging life to live.

If I must take the good with the bad in a packaged-deal, and if the good is more gracefully-aging life to live while the bad is hard-to-hide and pronounced middle-aged man jowls, sign me up for the tandem; I'll take it.

And with my taking it will be many morning encounters with my faithful bathroom mirror, perhaps singing a children's song to myself like one of every child's favorite, Old MacDonald  Had a Farm.

I can imagine myself singing a verse from this song, while looking in my bathroom mirror, about the turkeys Old MacDonald had while "marveling" at my aging and southward-sagging skin hanging below my chin.

"With a gobble-gobble here and a gobble-gobble-there, here a gobble, there a gobble, everywhere a gobble-gobble, Old MacDonald had a farm . . ."


Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum

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