Pushing Seventy...

06/14/2009

I realized last night I am closer to being seventy-years old than being sixty.  I really felt it last night.  Here are the details: I am in Dallas, and last night I was out late, way later than my norm.  I decided to have a beer at a place near my hotel named Humperdinks.  Actually, I had two.  Two Humperdinks IPA’s and a small pizza to go with them.  I was tired, probably because of the very early hour I got up and the very early morning hour I decided I wanted a nightcap, or was it a morning cap?  In any event, I drank my brewskis, ate my pizza, asked for and signed my check, bid a farewell to the bartender, and stood to leave.  This is where it gets good.

As I stood and pushed back on the stool, the back legs of it apparently caught on the floor tile somehow, the stool went backwards, my feet went forward, and my ass went up in the air, depositing me on the floor.  The stool hit the terra cotta floor with a very loud report, causing the entire population of the restaurant and bar to look in my direction.  Several bar guests rushed to my side, asking me if I was okay.  I was not.  My ego was hugely bruised, and my face a deep crimson with embarrassment.  Two beers, no buzz, but I was indeed very mortified.

I remember my folks falling more often as they aged.  Is this to be my fate?  I can tell you one thing, if this is going to be how it is for me, I sure as hell will drink more and really play the part of the “falling down drunk.”

And that is all I have to say about that…