On June 11, 2013, I became a nonagenarian. This was not an earth shaking event for me since I did not feel any different on this date than I had the day before. I decided, however, that I needed to take extra precautions at work. I had had my full-time job for over ten years and during those years I had been able to get away with working because I was merely an octogenarian, not a nonagenarian. (An octogenarian is a person who is between eighty years old and ninety. A nonagenarian is a person who is between ninety years old and one hundred.) I feel that an octogenarian can get away with working at a full-time job but a nonagenarian cannot readily do the same.
I decided that, at work, I needed to present a lower profile. I need to resist telling tales of how things used to be in the old days. I need to walk more briskly when going somewhere, to speak more clearly, and to avoid using words like forgot and phrases like senior moment. In short, I simply want to do my work like everyone else and be taken as a contemporary like everyone else.
At home, it can be different. There, I know it’s all right to remove my hair piece. My wife, Ann, certainly knows I wear one, and she knows what my age is. She knows that I need to walk up the stairs a little slower than I used to. She’s not alarmed if, on occasion, I go to the refrigerator and admit that I forgot why I went there.
The above having been said, there was an event today that shook me. I had a haircut appointment at four. This was to take care of the fringes at the back of my head and above my ears. I was running late and when the four o’clock time loomed, I needed to rush. I snatched the hairpiece from the bureau, handed it to Ann with a quick request, clamped a soft winter’s cap on my head, and rushed to the car with Ann in pursuit. Traffic was heavy and we arrived at the barbershop with a mere minute to spare.
Chris, the barber, called out a merry hello and expressed amusement that Ann was carrying a body of hair in her arms as if it were a kitten. No matter, we all laughed at this. Half an hour later, after Chris had done her magic, Ann and I made our way home.
Later in the evening, I needed my reading glasses and couldn’t find them. Ann remembered that I had been wearing them just before we had made our moderately furious dash to the barbershop. We looked everywhere, even inside the freezer. Nothing! Then, I saw a woolen cap hanging on the top hook of the clothes tree in the living room. With little expectation of success, I checked this out. Lifting the cap from the hook, I glanced inside. There they were! My glasses were neatly tucked within the same cap I had worn on the drive to the barbershop. Neither Ann nor I were able to construct a scenario that could explain how they had gotten there.
I decided that, at work, I should not relate this incident as having been a humorous event as it might be interpreted as my having had a senior moment!