This morning the news anchor was reporting that the average baby born in this century will live to be one hundred years old. My first reaction to this was “Yuk.” I’m glad I’m not one of them and here’s why.
I have learned to sleep with one eye open for obvious reasons. If the kids thought for a second I might live to be one hundred, I’d have to start sleeping with a grenade under my pillow. I’m on the bubble of overstaying my welcome already.
Considering the physical changes that have occurred over the past sixty plus years, I sometimes have difficulty recognizing myself. Unless there is an age reversal included in this deal, I’m agin’ it. I’m not sure there would be another 30 odd years of skin stretching and gravity fighting left in my droops.
I can’t keep up with the technology of today let alone what is to come. If someone came up with a useful gadget for me, such as an affordable R2D2 to wait on me hand and foot, I might have a change of heart, but I don’t see anyone putting down their Blackberries and Iphones long enough to do that.
I can’t remember the kid’s names a lot of times. They have become accustomed to answering to anything from “Hey you” to “Ya little twit”. A fourth generation of little rug rats taunting me is not something I dream of.
Living to be one hundred years old might be seen to some enthusiastic young’ns as a milestone, but no one is saying a thing about the shape one might be in. I mean, an eighty year old popping out her 15th kid is one thing, but chasing the toddler around in a Hoveround is quite another. Can’t you picture Mom and Dad at little Johnny’s football game passing a flask of Metamucil back and forth?
No thank you. Then I began contemplating the reasoning behind this “exciting” news. I wondered if there might actually be a conspiracy afoot to keep us alive, rather than kill us off. “What good are a bunch of old farts stumbling around wearing their underwear on the outside of their pants?” one may ask. The only reason I can come up with is, wait for it…..medical experimentation. Yes, and remember, you heard it here first.
About the only thing we’re going to be good for during the last ten years is probably drug testing. PETA will have outlawed all animal testing by then, so who’s left? I foresee a designated, government run reservation replacing the assisted living and old age homes we now have.
At age ninety, we would be required to “theoretically” die and go to the reservation where we would live out our lives a in blissful drug induced coma, enabling our caretakers to perform any medical experimentation they need. I’m sure the government would be willing to pay us for our sacrifice, and with enough lobbying, we might be able to get the equivalent of a sizeable life insurance policy out of them. We could save ten years of life insurance premiums! Jeez, if I ever made it to ninety, I’d be beating that door down. Put me in coach!
As you can see, I’m a little ambivalent on the thoughts of living to be one hundred years old. Not that I have anything to worry about. Speaking of food, where did I hide that Twinkie?
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