When I'm 85...

I ease my way out of bed; everything aches all at once. It's only 6:30 am; I'm up with the birds, that's how I roll when I'm eighty-five years old. I waddle over to the bathroom where I take my thirteen pee in the past twelve hours. I then proceed to have a bath, wash my face, shave, brush my dentures, gargle some mouth wash and stare at the not-so-youthful face that appears in my mirror.

I walk back into my bedroom and get dressed. I make sure not to forget my suspenders, my trifocals and my hearing aids.

I head down for breakfast, porridge. My wife has already eaten, but she's taken the liberty to lay out the twenty-eight different pills the doctor has prescribed me to take every morning.

After breakfast, I take old Simon (our dog) for a walk through the park. He's old too, he can empathize.

When I return back home I am quite tired so I have a nice long nap until my wife calls me for lunch.

For lunch we have soup. We have soup everyday for lunch. We've done it for the past twenty-five years. You'd think it's get old, well it does, but so do we.

After lunch, I go sit out on the porch to widdle and yell at the kids to get off my blasted lawn. This activity is quite exhausting so I have another nap until dinner.

In the evening, the wife and I watch Lawerence Welk on the boob-tube before calling it a night and heading to bed. It's been quite the exhausting day and we must rest up to do the exact same thing tomorrow.