The secret to getting into my pants.

OK, you perverts, it’s not what you think. In fact, this is about the least sexual post you’ll ever read. Probably, if you’re in the forty-something or younger group, this will also be the most boring post you will ever read. Fifty-somethings and over, you may do well to take notes. (I use that as the cutoff since, after 50, you start getting reams of notices to join AARP, and who knows better about aging than those good folks.)

Anyway, back to my original thought process. As I aged, I soon became aware that my self-proclaimed Adonis body took on more of a Humpty-Dumpty aspect. My bullet-proof exterior suddenly morphed into something more akin to a hemophiliac. Those times I used to shrug off the bumps and bruises of my macho lifestyle are gone and they now seem more like the throes of impending doom.

Anyone who has gone through the beginning stages of aging knows that falling is the single most fearful event. It is not only a painful experience, but usually becomes debilitating and changes lives forever. It is something I am constantly aware of and try very hard to be proactive about. I first realized this tendency back in my early 50’s when I noticed I was actually using the stair railings as I walked up and down. Yes, that man-ape that used to pretend he was king of the jungle as he bounded up or down two stairs at a time was now holding on to the railing for dear life. And so it was that I became acutely aware of the dangers of just walking around. Elementary, everyday tasks now appeared to be fraught with peril. Not the least of which is changing pants.


It’s always good to have a spotter working with you.

Just recently, and on other occasions, I nearly fell and cracked my skull while trying to complete this once simple act. Fortunately, I’m in very good health, but I do have more than my share of back problems. Therefore, the lithe, supple life form that used to be able to change clothes literally on the run, now treats changing pants as an Olympic event of sorts. Medals in this category are awarded primarily on the degree of difficulty:

Bronze – sitting on the bed to avoid any possibility of trauma.
Silver – standing, but holding on to a wall and dropping the pants to the floor as you step out of them.
Gold – removing your pants one leg at a time in the standing position.


Shoes and socks first? This man must really want that medal bad!

So now you know about the trials and tribulations that abound as I so graciously approach the golden years of life. I’d go kicking and screaming into that good night, but I’m too worried about falling down.