In 2022, almost in my 800s (months), I decided to play the role of a nearly septuagenarian by pretending to be suffering from old age: When my wife called at me to do something, I didn’t hear her, and when she checked on me about something I did hear but hadn’t done, I told her I forgot. It was a ruse I designed to be left alone in my office, surrounded by my stuff and doing the things I like. She is perfectly capable of getting something down from a high cabinet, getting something out of a low cabinet, changing a lightbulb in a living room lamp, taking out the kitchen garbage – which mainly she fills – gluing something she or the cats broke, mostly wooden or ceramic knick-knacks, restarting the Wi-Fi…ad annoyeum. (Note to assistant editor: yes, I made up a word, so don’t change it to nauseum.)
That went on (in an on-and-off way, for I often forgot to fake forgetting and hard-of-hearing) for two years, until I heard my wife telling others, in an almost bragging way, all about my diminished capacities. She even added one, telling our newly acquired grand daughter-in-law (our grandson got married, and now they’re expecting our first great grandchild) that I have no sense of smell. If my scent receptors are damaged, it’s due to years of smelling catbox, but I can still smell just fine. In fact, if there’s one molecule of dog poop in the air, my nose will find it. (If there are two, one will invariably land on my tongue, and then I have to gargle.)
Then, late last month, I heard her telling someone on the phone that I “always forget to take the garbage can to the curb.” I thought I understood what she was referring to. During the middle of the month, I’d been working on a difficult project and decided to postpone the chore from 6 p.m. to midnight. But when I went out, I found the can already there; my wife had moved it. The next day I explained what had happened, and she said, “Oh, okay.” Three days later I did it again, though this time I went out at eleven and found it moved. So maybe that’s what she was thinking of. But, “always”? That’s beyond exaggeration. And I didn’t forget.
So, I’ve stopped faking old. Oh, I still don’t always come running when she calls; in fact, I give her four summonings a day before I start yelling back, “I’m busy.” And if the subject of my memory comes up, I tell her, “No, I didn’t forget. I’ll do it when I’m ready.” Telling the truth is important, even if it pisses her off. I therefore advise all gentlemen of advancing months to not use age as an excuse for anything.
Well, I have to stop, now. My wife just hollered for me, which is fine; it’s only her third one. One to go.
