The New Emerging Geezer

I wish I had a sawbuck for every guy who told me he wears the same size pants he wore in high school.  The typical American male's capacity for self delusion is seemingly without bounds, or at least an inseam.  Almost without exception the guy still laying claim to a 32" waistline is now measuring it from a spot about eight inches south of his true mid section and must cinch his belt around his new  equator by lifting the Milwaukee goiter just north of this new line of demarcation.  Strangely, his inseam now measures 22 instead of 32.  How'd that happen?!

Male Baby Boomers like me are at that awkward stage.  Even if you don't succumb to the siren call of the south of the border waistline, there is still no denying the condemned building syndrome that is the plight of aging boomer men.  Overnight we've gone from "fair-haired boy" to the "bald-headed brother-in-law" and are dumbfounded at the consequences.  For most of us our hair is in full retreat on all major fronts with the unwelcome exception of our ears and nose.  Fat cells, now free range, have decided that the comfort of our midsection is irresistible and our asses have dematerialized to the point where the backside of almost any pair of Dockers now looks like and abandoned Gypsy camp.  

Young women, suddenly more friendly, no longer see we oldsters as a potential candidate for mattress polo (see "threat") and never miss an opportunity to tell us we remind them of their dad or, the ultimate insult, GRANDPA.  

Our wives find this all highly amusing and relish the knowledge that it's all their fault.  If they had left us to our own devices the bachelor diet alone would have put us in the ground years ago.  A few unsupervised trips to the grocery store are as good as sticking a gun in our kisser.  "Let's see…Cheetos, booze, huckleberry ice cream, cigars, pork rinds, yep, that's everything."  Obituaries for men would rhapsodise about us having "a good run" and passing away of a massive heart attack or cirrhosis at the ripe old age of 36.  Nope, wives had to insist on us eating fruits, vegetables, green stuff and laying off the sauce.  No wonder we're still around and twice as annoying.  It just ain't right.

 The Boomer/Neo Geezer is here to stay and all those of us born to it must embrace the newly shifted dunes of blubber in our now "comfort fit" jeans and new XL underwear.   (The saleswoman laughed when I asked if the XL pertained to fit in the crotch.  I can tell she thinks I look harmless.)  It takes yards more material but we did win the battle to continue dressing just as we did in sixth grade.  (If only I could find my old Hopalong Cassidy six shooter!)

  

"Hey, you kids get off my lawn!!" (Oops, that just slipped out. It has been happening more lately.)

  Have I mentioned that I
 have been forced to shop for new clothes recently? You know I have the same waist I had in high school.
Anybody seen my ass?  It was here a couple of years ago.

I wonder if Wally and the Beav are having the same problem.
Could be our wives.

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