Old-Fart-Dom

It is a bit of a sideshow really--off the beaten path, freakishly all male yet somehow compulsively inclusive and, dare I say it?, entertaining in an aberrant fashion.

The diaspora of which I speak, if it has to have a name, would reflect its age (middle-aged to old but firmly entrenched in the past); its mental state (constipated); and its preferred habitat (Canadian Tire aisles, mall benches and the species can often be found speeding up and slowing down in the fast lane of major highways).

This demographic anomaly seems to have been happily hopping around the Monopoly board until one day, one by one, they didn't make the turn at Go.

This is normally labelled retirement or downsizing or being made redundant. They passed Go that fateful day but then just slid quietly off into the snack area and stagnated.

There they sit amid the Bits 'n' Bites not knowing what to do with themselves nor quite knowing how to get back in the game.

They, however, think themselves still relevant and make odd proclamations in loud voices at inappropriate times. This makes young relatives nod to each other and move away to check electronic devices.

When viewed from the near-distance, this stage of life seems like it would be ideal. Enough income to eat well, live comfortably. Maybe travel. Time for all those books one meant to read, hobbies to be explored. Heck, one could even strike up a conversation with the good-looking woman who does your laundry and cooks your meals. And it need not be about eavestroughing or varmint control or potholes.

The defining characteristic is madness. Not in the cerebral--or even--chaotic sense. No, it is an anger whose source defies definition and management. These men reserve a special virulence for telemarketers--those undereducated youths and women who will do almost anything to secure employment--whose calls interrupt their nap or dinner--or nothing.

It is the anger--at everything--that surprises. Is it not illogical to be so impatient when one has all the time in the world? Why stomp through a rainy day just because you had planned to cut the grass on that particular day? There will always be tomorrow. And, if not, rest assured someone else will cut it. Heaven forbid, if one was to pass away without having the lawn in immaculate condition.

I know there are couples who play bridge or golf; there are those who take up square dancing and bird watching in their retirement years. Did the Old Fart gene somehow skip this group of men? Or did their partners bone up on their recreational leadership skills and lure them back out into the world of interesting pastimes? If so, kudos to them.

As for the rest of Womanhood, operating in a parallel universe to the Kingdom of Old Fartedness, remember, it is important to maintain your female friendships. There is medical evidence proving that women with strong connections to their kind (i.e. support groups) are healthier and happier.  

And wine helps.