Well, it's happened. I'm officially a senior citizen, dammit.

I found that I couldn't remember if I had or had not taken my medication for bedtime. Son of a bitch.

It's inevitable. There's nothing left but to buy a pair of plaid Bermuda shorts, black socks and sandals and stand out front yelling at kids to turn down their radios, until my daughter commits me to the home for my own good. The tragic thing is that I'm no longer in my right mind, so assisted suicide isn't even an option. See you all there. I hear they have creamed beef Sunday nights...

(PS- I hope this is self-evidently satire, but just in case, I'd better identify it as such. I'm not actually contemplating ending it all over forgetting my meds, or not, one Friday night. Fact is, I was so deep in conversation with someone of the female persuasion that I might have done any of ten or twelve different things and not remembered them. Life begins at 54. )