There are many markers out there to measure that will let you know you’re getting old.
Parts of the body start hurting for no apparent reason and the doctor has no answer, other than: “yeah, that just starts to happen.”
You start waking up early for no reason. You only use teeth-brightening toothpaste. You have Facebook, but haven’t discovered Twitter yet (sorry, but it’s true. Facebook is no longer the coolest thing). You start building raised garden beds just to avoid kneeling in the garden. Car insurance starts to go down. There is more food than beer in the fridge. Staying in is much more appealing than going out. Just to name a few.
I haven’t really hit any of those markers (I never really had more beer than food, who does that? And I’ve always hated to go out. So those don’t count). But I did discover last week another marker that could very well fit in this list.
A new washing machine.
I’m cheap. I don’t like to spend money, and I griped and groaned all the way to the store when Holly told me we needed a new washing machine, but we bought one anyway. And then the delivery people brought it to the house and set it up – and now my life has changed.
We still had the old, agitator-in-the-middle, top-load washing machine. The new machine has a clear lid, is top load and doesn’t have the agitator in the middle. Have you seen these? I never thought a washing machine would require an instruction manual thicker than a pocket thesaurus. It looks like a spaceship. And I stared at it washing clothes for 20 minutes like a child at Santa’s workshop.
What is wrong with me? There are football highlight shows on my television, SEC recaps on the SEC Network and Netflix is at my disposal. I have all of the entertainment that I need in my home to be a lazy, young man. Yet I chose to stand and stare at the new washing machine. I turned to find the dog checking it out, too. I’ve come to the conclusion that he was simply trying to find out what exactly I was staring at. And he knows that anytime I’m off the couch for that long it’s time for his walk.
So we have a new marker for determining age.
However, I did Tweet a picture of the new spaceship washing machine. Take that, father time.
–Josh Peterson is the publisher of the Manchester Times. He is a Tennessee Press Association award-winning writer and photographer. His column, “From the publisher’s desk” won TPA first-place honors for best personal humor column and best personal column. He can be reached by email email@example.com or by telephone at 931-728-7577 ext. 105. Follow him on Twitter @joshpeterson29