The Truth About Aging

There is a reason I’m wearing a hat in the picture atop this story. It’s bad enough that friends and family members point and laugh uncontrollably about the noticeable horseshoe pattern on the top of my dome. I’m not going to have people across the country looking at my profile page and clowning me, too.

The truth is, unfortunately, the fact that my hair seems to be running away from my forehead is only one sign of a growing trend. This 26-year-old formerly strapping lad is aging.

About a couple of feet below my fruit-like head that looked too big for my body before I started going bald, is the worst sign of this aging battle that physically, I’m losing. Believe it or not, at one point in my life, I was proud to take my shirt off at the beach. Now the only thing my stomach is good for is resting my dinner or a beer can, or a bowling ball or anything smaller than another person on. I could rest anything on the growing mound in the center of my body, fall asleep, wake up two hours later and it wouldn’t have moved an inch.

Having another place to rest my crap would have been a great thing in my college days. When I filled up the coffee table and the floor with trash, I could have just sat empty cans on my belly and then, I probably would have found it amusing. But, at the present, I live in a clean house. The coffee table is always clean, fruit flies no longer pay rent and the vacuum cleaner makes regular appearances. Not because of me, though. If you haven’t guessed by now, I am no longer free. I live with my fiancÃ?©, Meghan, who pretty much runs my life.

Not that getting married is a bad thing. But I still remember making mixed CD’s for a house party in Salisbury, Md. and contemplating where to throw the beer cans if “5.0” attempted to ruin our night of ridiculousness. Now if I so much as leave a beer can in the same spot for more than 15 minutes after its completion, the cops are the least of my worries. I have to cut back my beer intake anyway because of my bellyâÂ?¦.or at least I’m told.

That hot-blooded, sometimes frightening, New York native certainly keeps me in check. I do the dishes, help clean up, go to bed early and pay my bills on time. This is terrible. Actually it might be terrible if I did any of those things. As you can tell, I’m having a problem adjusting to adulthood. But I’m told I should do all of those things constantly. And that is terrible enough.

But I guess there is a point in everyone’s life when they realize that they are transitioning into adulthoodâÂ?¦whether they like it or not. And despite complaining for about 450 words, I enjoy coming home to my fiancÃ?©. I like my job and I enjoy living in a clean house where I don’t have to draw straws with a colony of fruit flies for the big room. And truthfully, I do find it amusing that I can rest my laptop on my stomach while I’m working.

I just wish I had more hair.

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