Old Enough to Have an Excuse

I’m glad to be my age. Being called “old,” “elderly,” “wise,” “aged,” “over the hill,” or whatever term is currently being used for someone who has been around awhile allows me to explain—or excuse— many of my failings.

It also provides perfectly good reasons for avoiding things I never wanted to do in the first place.

For instance, when I want to ignore telephone calls, I rely on Excuse 38: My hearing aid batteries are dead.

When I want to limit my exercise to once a year, Excuse 19 works nicely: I’m allergic to sweat.

I don’t enjoy being late to meetings, but I do hate being ruled by a clock. That’s when I pull out Excuse 94: My clock is as old as I am, and like me, it sets its own time.

Calendars irritate me for much the same reason. I prefer not to be reminded of birthdays, anniversaries, doctor appointments, and other obligations. Excuse 44 generally serves as my explanation: My calendar is defective. The dates for August appear in May, and January turns up sometime in November. Who would print such a confusing calendar?

Becoming proficient with computers isn’t something I particularly care to do. Truthfully, becoming proficient at most things no longer ranks very high on my list. I follow Henry Ford’s reputed philosophy: I don’t need to know everything; I only need to know whom to ask.

Works for me. Forgetfulness can also be remarkably convenient. For that, I use Excuse 70: What do you expect? My memory has been working overtime for decades.

And finally, there is my weight. I am tired of worrying about whether my stomach sticks out or whether my Fitbit celebrates when I reach 10,000 steps. I needed a good explanation for why my clothes are no longer as loose as they once were.

That led to Excuse 104: My doctor said it was dangerous to stand on the scales, bend forward, and try to read the number. So, I gave away the scales and removed every full-length mirror from the house. I haven’t a clue what I look like, and I’m becoming increasingly comfortable with the mystery.

You may wonder how I accumulated such a lengthy supply of excuses. It has taken me a lifetime to develop my catalog. Each excuse has been tested, adjusted, tried again, and carefully perfected.

After all these years, I can finally use them without being questioned. People may shake their heads and mutter, but that doesn’t bother me.

My hearing aid batteries are dead.