Some people say 40 is the new 20, or that 40 is the new 30.
Unfortunately, as far as I’m concerned, 40 is just 40, and no amount of figurative window-dressing is going to change that!
Don’t get me wrong, I certainly don’t feel like a person who will, next week, enter his fifth decade on this earth. For instance, I still feel cool and hip, keeping up to date with what’s goin’ dowwwn in the world of entertainment. This is despite the fact that, instead of making me feel all hanky-panky, the recent performances of some of the younger singers just make me want to give them a parental spanky!
I also consider myself to be quite ‘with it‘ when it comes to technology in this brave new digital world, albeit I still can’t work out how to download movies from the internet without inadvertently downloading STDs from all corners of the web.
Furthermore, I’m in the best shape of my life, and would certainly bet on my current self to out-run and out-lift my younger self, every day of the week and twice on Sunday.
However, as I said before, 40 IS 40 and there is simply no getting around it.
I know this because I find myself nagging and repeating myself more and more these days.
“P, don’t forget to pick up the drycleaning tomorrow“.
“Honey, I heard you the first 3 times“, my wife would shoot back, with a deadpan expression.
“L, make sure you clean up your toys in …“.
“I know, I know, clean up my toys in the lounge room. You told me to do it 2 minutes ago“, my elder son would respond, sighing and moping.
“C, please choose a book to read tonight before bedtime“.
“You want me to get the book, Daddy? Or do you want me to clean up the toys that you keep on telling me to clean up“, my younger son would complain, in his usual hands-on-hip posture whenever he feels hard done by.
It has come to a stage where my wife is starting to call me a nag – a complete U-turn from earlier days of our marriage when she used to, for instance, tell me 3 times each night to wipe down the shower-screen after use.
I also know I’m 40 because, for some reason, I make these pathetic groans whenever I get up from the bed, the chair, the floor or indeed any position from which my body has been fixed for more than 10 minutes. Sometimes, I don’t even notice making these sounds until I hear my wife mumbling something along the lines of “Oh God, I need to upgrade to a younger model!“.
The groaning that I do notice myself making more of these days is that of a cranky old fart, bitching and moaning about anything and everything. Politicians, traffic, weather, the increasing cost of a soy flat white, the decreasing size of Big Mac – you name it and I can find something to chuck a fit about it. Hell, I even complain when I win a bet on a football match because I didn’t wager more money on it!
In addition, as I approach 40, I find myself nagging and repeating myself more and more these days.
Then there is the social stamina, or the lack of it. When I was younger, a night out began at 11 pm and didn’t get into full swing until 1am before a cleansing hamburger at 4 am. Nowadays, the yawns begin at 10pm and don’t stop until 11pm at which point I usually call it a night, head home and suddenly get rejuvenated watching David Attenborough’s “The mysteries of the Antartic“.
Come to think of it, insofar as it applies to me, 40 is more the new 60.
I whine and creak like an insufferable fool, but my appearance and maturity level tell the world that I have not yet earn the right to do so. The consequence is that yours truly is now stuck in this twilight zone – one where outsiders think I forgot to take my pills, while insiders are adamant that I should start taking some!
But, then agan, what the hell do they know?!
A bunch of punks who talk much more than they should listen. In my days, we would have dealt with these brats by blah, blah, blah … blah, blah, blah!!!
Keep on pounding.