A little more than a decade ago, I published in this hallowed part of cyberspace an article titled The Incredible Shrinking Man, which famously went on to capture the coveted FIFA Gold Trophy for Literature. The article was later made into a motion picture of the same name, which went on to win another FIFA Gold Trophy, this time for Best Picture.
I return to tell you I’m still shrinking. Not a good thing for someone who started life pre-shrunk. After ten more trips around the sun since my last Shrinking article, Earth’s gravity pull as well as dealing with life’s constant bullshit that comes with being a decade older has lowered my already vertically challenged stature a couple more notches. If I live to be ninety, I may by then be mistaken for a speed bump.
What I’ve heard from those who actually grew taller when they were young, they suffered from “growing pains,” a phenomenon caused by bones actually growing longer. I never experienced those pains; instead, I am presently suffering from “shrinking pains,” a phenomenon AARP Magazine says is caused by “getting too fucking old.”
Fig. 1 – Me getting a hand job from my wife
As I reported to you last time, finding jeans that don’t drag on the ground and shorts that don’t make me look like a garden gnome has always been a major pain in my ass. To eliminate that problem, I could move to a nudist colony, but the idea of walking around eye level with taller men’s junk is hardly appealing.
And then there’s my bladder. This only became a problem over the past few years. I pee a lot… a whole lot. Not volume-wise. It’s not a tsunami, or anything like that. In fact, it’s usually the opposite. Just a light drizzle followed by a short break, then more drizzling, another break, and so on until I’ve finally emptied out… or so I think. A half-hour later, I’m back at it. So, when I say I pee a whole lot, I mean I pee a whole lot of times in the course of a day. Tests from my semi-annual doctor’s visits always come back indicating I have a somewhat enlarged prostate, but as my all-knowing physician tells me, it is typical for a man my age. He says there is nothing indicating a problem to be concerned about… not yet anyway.
That’s nice to know, but still, I long for the days when I could go all day with maybe one or two trips to the john. And back then, it felt like I had opened up a fire hydrant. And the best part was, when I was done, there was no leakage. Now, after seven decades, my shut-off valve is the same one I had installed way back when I took my first breath but now it seems to be a wee-wee bit defective—pardon the pun. I’m no plumbing expert but I think I probably need a new O-ring or some shit like that, but obviously, installing a new one is not an option. So, I deal with it. Not a big problem at home, but road trips can be longer than necessary because of the multiple stops I need to make at disgusting gas station washrooms.
But that’s not the only problem with my plumbing. Due to my advancing age and the numerous medications I take each day just to keep from screaming at the TV every time the Cubs blow a lead or, worse yet, whenever I see that bloated, ugly orange turd currently occupying the White House spew lies about every fucking thing, Mr. Happy ain’t so happy anymore. Always on the lookout, ready to strike at a moment’s notice back in my younger days, he now takes a much more relaxed approach bordering on what one might call a coma. I may be old, but I still think like a horny high school kid when it comes to attractive females. The connection from my brain to my once-proud appendage, however, is no longer working. Just like my plumbing shut-off valve, my internal Wi-Fi modem is defective. The brain waves aren’t getting signaled to the equipment. But that’s probably for the best; nobody wants to see a septuagenarian man constantly hobbling around at full mast.
But it ain’t all bad. Blessed with a shitty family medical history, I’m still alive and kicking well past my expected expiration date. OK, so alive and kicking is a bit of an exaggeration. More like still alive and shrinking.
So that’s it. Remember to check back in another ten years to hear the latest news on my quest to eventually shrink down to just a tiny speck of dust. That’s assuming I’m still alive… and still tall enough to reach the keyboard.