Past the Half-Century Mark at the Drugstore (TMI)

Last week I turned fifty-one years old. Any birthday marks another year closer to death. However, this one had the added significance of being greater than the mid-century mark.

I am not sure at what age most of us begin to realize that we are not going to live forever. Maybe it is the late thirties or forties? For me, it is not mortality that is the issue as much as it is the change of what we need to get by in life.

A trip to the drugstore is a good example.

When I was twenty the most embarrassing things I had to buy at the drugstore were condoms. I am not sure why that is so difficult for most young men. I would often try to talk the girls I was dating into buying them for me. When that didn’t work I would drive to a drugstore on the outskirts of town to minimize the chances that I would run into anyone that I knew. The last thing I wanted was to have a voice from behind me say, “Hey Bill, what’s up man?” while I was standing there holding a box of rubbers. After I found a remotely located pharmacy I would go inside and do a little drugstore recon, going up and down the aisles pretending to be shopping, just to be certain that there weren’t any customers due to come up to the counter with me.

Just when I was sure that the coast was clear I would make my move. I would shuffle up to the pharmacy window. When the clerk noticed me, I would chicken out and grab the closest item nearby and say, “Yeah, I just need this.” One time to my dismay I realized that in the process of my quick improvisational move I had actually grabbed an enema bottle! As far as embarrassment goes I would have been better off with the condoms. What a great contraceptive device an enema bottle is, isn’t it? Although, I am told they can make for an interesting evening in some circles.

Now at fifty-one I still have to navigate my way through the humiliating aisles of the drugstore only now the shopping list has changed. For one, I really do need an enema bottle. Maybe I should pick up some fiber while I am there too? Come to speak of it I could probably use some Preparation H. The only thing worse than not having enough bowel movements is having too many.

And yes, I still do the drugstore recon. Only now I also check the clerk. This is one time the red-blooded man in me does not want a cute girl behind the counter. Nothing will make you feel older than having an attractive young woman put your disposable enema bottle and Preparation H into a bag and then hand it back to you. I want some old bastard like me to do it with an empathetic nod.

I know I should be grateful for getting older. It is a privilege that is denied to many. I just wish it didn’t suck.