Remember when we were kids and you would just fall asleep anywhere when you were tired? You’d be running around like crazy and then-boom. You’re exhausted. Four minutes later — you were asleep and your dad scooped you up in his arms and carried you to bed.
Well, I recently had lunch with a friend fast approaching 70. And he reminded me that it’s good to carry a sense of humor in the circle of life. I was absolutely in stitches as he described how long his bedtime rituals took. It seems that the older we get, the more we have to do. With his permission, I’ve recapped his story:
First, I have to take my pills — one for blood pressure — fish oil that makes me burp like a mackerel eating porpoise. Then there’s my chromium. It helps stabilize my blood sugar so I don’t get diabetes. Great.
Then I go pee.
I come back. Wash. Brush my teeth. I also brush my mouth guard. I like that minty fresh feeling when I put it in. (I wear it because I snore and grind my teeth like bad brake shoes on my old 1962 Dodge Dart. Wife can’t sleep.)
Oops. Forgot to take my vitamin D.
I pop my mouth guard out, set it down and take the vitamin D. Then I forgot what I was supposed to do next.
So I go pee.
It’s a good fallback position when you forget. Gotta take care of that prostate-right? (My personal nightly goal is less than two trips to the toilet in the middle of the night.) While I’m in the bathroom, I see my Preparation H. Well, might as well slab on that stuff so those nasty hemorrhoids shrink while I sleep.
I come out of the bathroom, see my mouth guard on the counter and think, “Guess I better brush it again.” (Minty fresh breath ya know.)
A thought flashes through my mind. “Oh shoot! I forgot to put on my nasal snore strips.”
I can do this with my mouth guard in. Unless…
Suddenly my wife hollers. “Honey, did you take the dogs out to pee?” I bumble — struggling to respond. My nasal strip dangles off my nose like its clinging from a rock cliff. I make some unhuman-like audio that sounds like I have a dental dam in my mouth.
She doesn’t really listen.
“Ok. Well, they’re waiting for you…” I mumble some curse word under my breath and begrudgingly take the dogs outside in their fenced run. I’m donning my boxers, a baggy college sweatshirt and Uggs.
Problem is…the neighbor comes out at the same time.
Oh God. My mouth guard jams any hope of communication. The nasal strip flaps off the bridge of my nose as I whirl around again-trying to speak. Hopeless.
Back upstairs I go.
I forget. Where did I leave off?
So I go pee.