I suffer from A-VD.
Tags: Birthday, Short Story, Life, Fun, Humour

I suffer from A-VD.

(Age Verification Disease)

I’ve just had a birthday … it’s no longer a celebratory moment. I’m also the self appointed medical expert of A-VD. It might be upgraded to A-VV – (age verification virus)! By all means contact me if you think you’ve got it too? It eventually leads to death.

Picture courtesy of Pinterest

Whoever coined the phrases: “Your only as old as you feel” – is a dick! ; and “Age is just a number” – a bigger dick! And both are liars. And Psychopaths.

Both those “quote contributors” are buff, “30-somethings” with 6-packs. Ageing is shite! And let me define the word SHITE … There are three basic expressions for shit:

Shit – (obviously) that singular small one off ‘dump’ of lousy!; Shittest – ‘superlative’ - largest amount of lousy; and Shite – of Irish origin and a collective noun for everything shit — sentiments, thoughts or actions containing the very idea or expression of shit. And the Irish should know. They only consume Guinness and potato and live near a bog. SHITE is the worst kind of shit. PS – should not be confused with GOBSHITE!

“I’m closer to 60 than 50 …” (insert age appropriate numbers)!

When someone says something similar, and they’re over 50, they have contracted A-VD disease. FACT!!

I try hard not to state my exact age any more. It’s the disease. The disease hit me just before my 50th … I began stuttering trying to say ffff… ff… ffifty! and it’s escalating as I near sss-ss,sixty! That was when I knew I had caught it. Our minds think we are still 17, its our bodies that do not acclimate. I’m working on a pill for that. Not to fix the body, that would be a bridge too far … my invention is the body equivalent of VIAGRA. Doesn’t do anything for the penis, just gets the entire body erect and able to do things a teenager can do. If only for a few hours. Its called BOD’AGRA. It’s a body “blocker”!

I now refuse to fill in forms requiring age specificity … I’m happy to insert my DOB … but always leave the square asking ‘age at last birthday’, blank. If you wanna know, buy a calculator!

My passport renewal has been held up on the computer for 3 months. The blinking message says “please complete the highlighted section”. Guess what it wants? I may have to capitulate this time. My passport has actually expired.

In those glorious teen years …my mother, RIP, would send me a hand written note … yes, I’m THAT old: “Its your sisters birthday on Sunday. Get her a gift!”

And as a teenager, I hated buying gifts. ALL men are generally ‘pants’ at gifting. And 17 year old ‘men’ are the “crotch of those pants” … at gifting. They’re only thinking of two things – filling the belly and emptying the scrotum! That’s it!

Today … as I approach 60, going to buy a gift is an OUTING! Somewhere between a mosh pit and an orgy … but must have a buffet of moist soft foods!

But when I married, I was expected to remember these dates on my own. Is it not tradition that men are supposed to forget dates? People wrongly assume marriage matures men. It’s a fallacy. I am more childlike today than I was at 20.

I’m so bad at dates – I chose our wedding day as the 13th of February. The day before Valentines … people thought it was romantic! The reason however, was far more simplistic. I knew I’d have enough Valentine retail reminders that I could never forget what the day before was, AND … I could purchase one card for both our anniversary and Valentines.

That’s called: Catching two coelacanths with one hook! That’s right, they weren't extinct when I went fishing as a yob!

Children’s birthdays, grandchildren’s birthdays, parents deaths, wife’s birthday, wife’s family, anniversaries, pets births and deaths … it’s endless, you just accumulate more and more dates to remember as you age. It’s exhausting.

And now more of my children are bringing partners home to meet us. I keep suggesting marriage is not something to be taken lightly or rushed into. They think I’m spouting wisdom … it’s not! I do not need more dates to remember!! Marry when I’m in the ground or an urn of ash on the mantle.

My wife says I should get a large birthday calendar … and write the occasions down, but she forgets I’m a “hunter gatherer” … it’s hard wired, DNA stuff – age cannot dull genetics — she’d never understand. As with directions – we men prefer to find our destination by cunning, deception and intuition …like finding meat, of old, in the wild. Not by sensibly asking a local resident or using a satnav! That’s for the saloon pianist in a Western! … Pussy! (remember westerns? Bet the “dick” that made those quotes above, doesn’t). I’m not scribbling on a BIG (yes I got that knife in the back too) calendar … she just had to say BIG. I’m winging it BABY!

When we go shopping these days, the wife catches me shuffling towards the various greeting card stands mumbling and murmuring incoherently!! She demands to know why I’ve bought 2348 cards of various message types recently. What possible explanation could I give to that question … without admitting “calendar defeat” … I buy every conceivable option because my mind cannot remember the huge number of celebratory family members anymore. But I’m keeping shtum as to the real reason!

But I’ve not succumbed to buying a birthday calendar!! I’m in charge !!

However my lack of a suitable response required a trip to see a specialist … the wife thinks senility has unceremoniously arrived. The doctors prescribed medication to ‘combat my senility’. … “combat” … I’m now at bloody war as well … with myself it seems. I’m nearing 60 and combating stuff!! Waahoo! I’m in the trenches suckers! Me and my ‘homies’ … only our uniforms are gowns and slippers … and with a “buffet” instead of bayonet!

My prescribed weapons of choice are: Omega 3 fatty acids; Vitamin B 9; Vitamin B 12; Curcumin; Ginkgo Biloba; Vitamin D; Huperzine and Ginseng … that’s on top of my gout medication and a daily dose of BOD’AGRA! And a multivitamin supplement.

It’s so many pills and tablets that on the odd occasion, when I’m not in the trenches, and I’m capable of coitus, I rattle now. It doesn’t help my “senility” that I keep stopping on the job to ask the wife … “did you hear a rattle”? I tell you — combat does things to a man!

Pseudo senility is a bitch … trust me. Way worse than the real thing. I may have to go see an African “Sangoma” – have them perform a “miracle” on me – go in senile, come out cured! I can’t keep the pills and pretence up much longer, my medical aid is asking for a bigger co-pay contribution! Bastards! Don’t they know I’m a combat veteran! I fought in the “date wars” of 2020.

What date is my medical contribution due again …? Jeez, I hate dates!! And medical insurance … and life insurance … it’s a sign I tell you! I’ll send a ‘sorry” card! I have a few to choose from. I think I might need a calendar.