Well, it is now official: I’m 40 years old. This once unthinkable age snuck up on me like with all the subtlety of a freight train being introduced to a glass manufacturing plant. The question I have since the arrival of this birthday over the weekend is simple…am I supposed to grow up now?
Spoiler alert…no is the answer. I know what you’re thinking, Alan, why do you make stupid jokes all the time? Answer: Because they are easier than intelligent ones. Video games are for kids, why do you still play them? Answer: The median age (according to Wired Magazine) is “actually 35 years old with a job, a family and a habit of taking four weeks to finish a title.” It takes me longer because I’m impatient and prone to fits of rage-quits, but you get the point. Why don’t you take better care of yourself now that you’re 40? Answer: Don’t wanna.
Alright old man, I suppose now is the time when you have a midlife crisis and buy a sports car. Nah, I don’t really think so. I’ve never been much of a car guy (though I did have a 2003 Mustang Convertible once…then life happened) and I know what everyone thinks when they see a 40+ year old man driving a sports car and I don’t want any part of that. Besides, a car and its associated accessories (racing stripes, spoilers, pine scented Christmas Tree air fresheners, etc.) are expensive. And why anyone would want to voluntarily drive in Northern Virginia is beyond me.
To be honest, turning 40 isn’t that big a deal. I’ve heard that upon reaching this age, some people start to have less patience with things like noise and disruptions to schedules, a bit more accepting to insignificant issues that don’t directly affect them, and have more physical problems than people of lesser stages of cellular degeneration (aka younger punks). I am glad to report that I can tell no difference between being 40 and because my youthful 39 I was just a few days ago.
No difference? Nope, I have exactly the same level of disdain for schedule interruption and unnecessary noisy people. In terms of being more accepting to issues that don’t directly affect me, well, it’s not fair to include me in the survey. As a card carrying member of DCIIDAM (or Don’t Care If It Doesn’t Affect Me), as long as it doesn’t directly affect me or my loved ones, anyone can do pretty much whatever they want.
Physical Difference? Not really. I have back problems and bad knees so I’ve got the same level of daily pain being 40 as when I was 39. The GOOD news, though, is that now that I’m 40, I’m allowed to tell my better half that something hurts and not be met with “Well go to the doctorrrrr.” Basically what I’m saying is “I’m old, damnit, pamper me.” Unrealistic? Yep, but hmm, how to put it…oh yes… “I’m old, damnit, pamper me.”
The fact is, I’m 40. I’m in a new demographic now. The commercials during Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy really are geared to me from now on. God knows I’ll need the Geritol and Metamucil soon enough. And if I eat one more Burger King Halloween Whopper that turns my poop green, I’ll need to double down on the stuff. But heck, if a few “old people” commercials is the price to pay for still being the same funny (a claim my wife would refute, however) and immature jokester I always have been, well, that’s not too bad.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go yell at some kids to get off my lawn.