Hypothetically Speaking . . .

. . . . . . . . Because Humor Matters

Birthday Tires & Prostates

Written By: Michael Rochelle - Oct• 20•19

I was just a little excited . . . just a little.

Despite all the begging, pleading, and letters I wrote to Santa, my birthday has somehow managed to come around again this year. As many of you and AARP know, this will be a major one for me. I won’t bore you with the exact number, but let’s just say you’d need several spreadsheets to do the math. Survey says my glass is half empty and leaking profusely.

At this age, people just randomly stop by to check on me. I’ve already had several twenty-somethings stop me on the street to ask if I’m OK. “Hey, are you still alive?” they ask. “Just checking.” On several occasions, I’ve thought someone was attempting to take my wallet on the Metro, but, instead, they were simply checking my pulse before taking my wallet.

No one seems happier about my birthday than my team of doctors. Whereas they used to only shame me about my weight and general appearance, they now also get to excitedly start every sentence with, “Well, once people reach your age…,” or, “If there are things on your bucket list that you would like to accomplish, you may want to start doing those things today, because, who knows?”

I knew that I was transitioning out of my youth by how many times the topic of life insurance and next-of-kin would randomly pop up in general conversation. For months, my mom has repeatedly asked about my will. She also randomly likes to confirm that she is still the beneficiary on all of my insurance policies. She got really concerned when I bought my fish, which I understand because I do like them better. When I explain to her that she is supposed to go long before I do, she pulls up my recent lab results, shakes her head, and says she’s not so sure about that.

Well, at this age, I can confirm that things really do start to go downhill regardless of what you try to do to avoid it. For six months I only had gluten-free water and reduced-fat lettuce, but still, my cholesterol and blood pressure were high. So, with things already being on a downward spiral, it was no surprise for me to wake up one morning to learn that there were two nails in one of my tires. For me, this was symbolic. It was life’s way of confirming how things would be from now on.

Actually, if I’m honest, I didn’t exactly learn about the nails in my tire on my own. My mechanic told me about them when I stopped by to complain that my tire pressure light was on again. He took one look at the tire and asked if I’d known about the nails. I was offended. Of course, I didn’t. Knowing about cars was not one of the skills my mother passed on to me. Also, tire knowledge did not come with the most recent update of iOS 13. Apparently, you can’t count on Siri or your iPhone for everything. Steve Jobs would be pissed.

The one thing I did know about tires was that they can sometimes be patched. When I was younger, I remember running over a rock in my dad’s car and leaving a huge gash in one of the tires. Because I’ve always been creative, I took an old black T-shirt that no one would care about and stuffed it into the hole. Proud of myself, I skipped off and said, “That should do it.” Side note, it didn’t.

My mechanic stated that the nails were in a place that couldn’t be repaired. He patted me on the back and said I would need new tires. And, because we’re encouraged to live a balanced life, apparently the law states that you must replace at least two tires at a time. Like puppies or twins, tires should come as a set.

I argued about the Two-Tire Law, but I lost the debate. Maxine Waters just wasn’t haven’t it. She told me that even if the other tire is fine, it still has to go. Ironically, this reminds me of my prostate. Although things feel ok, now that I’m an advanced elderly person, my team of doctors is excited to get their hands in there. Regardless, I’m going to make them wait. My momma has made it to almost 60, and she’s never had her prostate checked. That noted, it looks like genetics are in my favor. Everything should be just fine.

Completely appropriate birthday cards because my team knows me!

One of the problems with having a major birthday is that there is an expectation that you do something special for it. For months people have been encouraging me to go to Vegas, New York, or somewhere exotic like Montana. Fortunately, I procrastinated on making travel plans. First, there was no guarantee that I would make it to my birthday. According to my doctors, at this age, my knees or heart could give out at any minute now. Plans should be held off until the very last minute just in case. Second, the way my bank account is set up, travel expenses somehow always get declined—especially when I have a zero balance.

For this birthday, instead of booking flights or wondering which club would allow a person my age to celebrate from 6 to 8 p.m. so that I can be in bed no later than 8:45, I’ve been scrolling through tire costs and making life decisions about brands. Should I embark on this next stage of my life on a new set of Michelins, or would choosing another brand ensure I’ll have a Goodyear? I’ll pause to give you a moment to notice what I did there. Don’t worry. We’ll wait for you to catch it.

The good thing about the tire tragedy is that it has kept my mind off the gray hairs that seem to be popping up here and there with reckless abandon. Because I don’t want to get too graphic, and I need to keep the blog G rated in case my momma or the pope may have ventured this way, I won’t post the pics here. However, if you need photographic evidence of these grays, email me so I can send them your way. You and your pets will have a great laugh at my expense as you wonder how a person even grows hair in some of these places.

Because I’ll have new tires instead of a birthday cake this year, at least I’ll be able to avoid the fire hazard associated with all those candles. Last year was absolutely tragic. First, the candles decided to unify and revolt in a huge blaze of glory. My roof and eyebrows are still not back to normal. Second, at this age, I no longer have the breath support to blow out that many candles at one time. Last year, I had to do so much blowing that I passed out and woke up the following week. The neighbors thought I was dead, and my mother cashed in at least two of my life insurance policies. It was a big mess.

The one good thing about my upcoming birthday is that I expect it will add to my credibility. No longer will I be waived off as being just some young whippersnapper. Instead, I expect people to start lining up down the block in need of my wisdom. Of course, by no means can I pretend that I am as enlightened as the Dalai Lama, but I can at least share what it was like to have been there for World War I, the Salem Witch Hunt, and the Boston Tea Party. By the way, I’m still pissed that they didn’t serve Chai Tea at the party. Fortunately, there was a Starbucks down the block, so I guess I can’t complain but so much.

Nope. Not boobs . . . but maybe.

Michael Rochelle
Humor blog: www.humormike.com
Facebook: michael.rochelle1
Instagram: humor_mike_
Twitter: @mikeyllo

You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

4 Comments

  1. MARCUS JONES says:

    LMAO HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEXY 💋❤💯🎂🍰

  2. Thank you! I absolutely appreciate it!

  3. Kev, Your message came through! Thanks for the emoji and for reading!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: