DOES AGE, LIKE SIZE, MATTER?
How old is OLD? I think that one’s answer depends on what year in your respective lifetime you answer this question. I mean when you’re twelve, twenty is old and when you’re in your twenties, thirty-five is old. Hell, now that I’m a smidgen older than forty, fifty is looking pretty darn spry.
Anyway, this universal concept seems to be lost on Honey. Without blinking an eye he can watch something on television or read (and then repeat it -> extra credit here for having to go out of his way on this) to freak my mom out when he talks about age, healthcare and the elderly.
For instance. Last night while we’re all having dinner and sharing our doings for the day, a small segment came on the news about an elderly man looking for a cutting edge medical miracle to cure him. He was 76. When Honey hears this he says to no one in particular: “76? Are you kidding me? How much longer does the guy want to live?”
The previously boisterous room goes silent and one set of unblinking eyes glares at him. The rest of the eyes in the room (aside from his) are trained on me. No doubt waiting to see how long it will take me to brain him! *shakes head here* Because Honey, God love him, continues down this path toward a major domestic dispute. Yep, he even looks over at me and nods with conviction. “Don’t worry,” he says. ”When I’m that old and I get sick you have my permission to poison me. Humans should be born with a self-destruct button that ignites when you’re 80. Tops.”
I’m speechless. Permission to poison him when he’s old and sick? Hmm… I’m thinking why wait? Especially when Madge’s jaw (that’s my mom) is swimming in her mashed potatoes. Unbelievable! Here he is talking about blowing up at 80 when his MIL is 84. Uncomfortable didn’t even begin to describe.
So I did the only thing any self-respecting, pissed off wife would do. I told him not to worry. When he was 76 (he’s older than I am) we’d take a one way flight to Alaska. Upon arrival we’d stop at the hardware store and buy a pick-axe. Then we’d find a nice chunk of ice near the sea and sever a little island for ourselves to float away on.
He thinks this is a terrific idea. As for my 84 year-old mother she’s happily distracted by talk of somone else’s eminent demise, but our adult child who was also in the room, is not so amused. She leans over and whispers, “Don’t say that mom. I don’t want to think about you and daddy dying.”
I buttered a piece of bread and hand it to her. With a casual shrug I put her mind at ease. “Who said anything about me dying? I’d be the one holding the pick-axe.”
Riley
Anyway, this universal concept seems to be lost on Honey. Without blinking an eye he can watch something on television or read (and then repeat it -> extra credit here for having to go out of his way on this) to freak my mom out when he talks about age, healthcare and the elderly.
For instance. Last night while we’re all having dinner and sharing our doings for the day, a small segment came on the news about an elderly man looking for a cutting edge medical miracle to cure him. He was 76. When Honey hears this he says to no one in particular: “76? Are you kidding me? How much longer does the guy want to live?”
The previously boisterous room goes silent and one set of unblinking eyes glares at him. The rest of the eyes in the room (aside from his) are trained on me. No doubt waiting to see how long it will take me to brain him! *shakes head here* Because Honey, God love him, continues down this path toward a major domestic dispute. Yep, he even looks over at me and nods with conviction. “Don’t worry,” he says. ”When I’m that old and I get sick you have my permission to poison me. Humans should be born with a self-destruct button that ignites when you’re 80. Tops.”
I’m speechless. Permission to poison him when he’s old and sick? Hmm… I’m thinking why wait? Especially when Madge’s jaw (that’s my mom) is swimming in her mashed potatoes. Unbelievable! Here he is talking about blowing up at 80 when his MIL is 84. Uncomfortable didn’t even begin to describe.
So I did the only thing any self-respecting, pissed off wife would do. I told him not to worry. When he was 76 (he’s older than I am) we’d take a one way flight to Alaska. Upon arrival we’d stop at the hardware store and buy a pick-axe. Then we’d find a nice chunk of ice near the sea and sever a little island for ourselves to float away on.
He thinks this is a terrific idea. As for my 84 year-old mother she’s happily distracted by talk of somone else’s eminent demise, but our adult child who was also in the room, is not so amused. She leans over and whispers, “Don’t say that mom. I don’t want to think about you and daddy dying.”
I buttered a piece of bread and hand it to her. With a casual shrug I put her mind at ease. “Who said anything about me dying? I’d be the one holding the pick-axe.”
Riley
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