My First Wife works in an assisted living center. Occasionally, I have reason to go by her place of work and last Friday was one of those days. Ah, what a nice day. High, warm temperature. No wind—not even a breeze. SAHMs were out jogging at midday. Mail carriers waved at people. And the residents where My First Wife works were all sitting out on the veranda taking in the first warm rays of Spring.
I had to wait a bit, so I sat out there, too, in such a way that I was hardly seen. But I could hear several conversations. Lester, James B. and Hector were going on about their troubles.
“I tell you,” said Lester, who still has dark, but quite thin hair, “the day I turned sixty, I couldn’t pee any more. Sixty’s a bad year, I tell ya. You just stop peeing.”
“You stopped peeing?” Hector asked. Hector is hard of hearing.
“Yeah. You just stand there and wait and wait. Hurts to kingdom come, too. A little dribbles out here and there and half hour later you finally get to zip up. I hate being sixty.”
“Why did you stop peeing?” Hector asked.
After a while, James B. spoke up. He has a soft voice, but he has all his faculties. He’s quite the nice gentleman. My First Wife speaks highly of him, so I was interested in his comments. “You got it all wrong, I’d say” he said. “I didn’t have no problems till I turned seventy. Now that’s a time I wouldn’t wish on nobody.”
“What’s your problem,” Lester asked.
“It takes a hour ‘n’ a half to have a bowel movement.” I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him wincing. “It’s horrible. And sometimes I only go once or twice a week.”
“What he say?” Hector asked.
James B. yelled out, “I said I can’t have regular bowel movements any more!” The veranda got real quiet. All the gentlemen snorted; the ladies turned their heads and giggled. Those with red hats covered their faces.
“Oh, is that all?” Hector wanted to know. "Well, wait’ll you turn ninety like me. Then all hell breaks loose. You’ll have problems, and I mean problems.” He slowly waved a shaky hand at them.
Everyone was really listening now.
“You having problems peeing?” Lester yelled to the near-deaf Hector.
“No, I pee every morning at six o’clock. Real good stream, too."
"What about a BM?" James B. asked loudly.
"My youngest son has a BMW. Took me for a ride once and..."
"Not that," James B's little voice yelled out. "I said BEE EMM! Crap! Do you take a regular crap?"
"Oh, that." Hector replied. "Indeed I do. Like I said, about six every morning I pee. Then about six-thirty I take a real healthy crap.”
James B. got huffy. His quiet voice suddenly roared. “You’re ninety years old and you do this every morning?”
“Yep,” said Hector proudly.
“Then what’s your problem?” James B and Lester demanded.
“I wake up at seven.”