It’s no surprise to anyone that knows me, but I’m not an optimist.

Still, I sometimes try to see the pewter lining in the clouds on life’s horizon, and, being sixty-four years old, I pay more attention than you young whipper-snappers.  If you don’t know what a whipper-snapper is, you are one.  Cowboy sidekick Gabby Hayes is the source, just in case you didn’t catch the hilarious take-off in “Blazing Saddles”.  Anyway, whipper-snappers are always young.

Sorry, got a bit off track there.  Old folks do that if you hadn’t noticed.  Back to the point.

A second family member just moved into an assisted living facility (AL).  If the nursing home is not your final destination, then assisted living is.  Of course, you have to live long enough to enter one of these purgatories by staying alive.  Several of us are gonna skip that part I think.  I told you I was not an optimist.

Now, the point is that assisted living is much better than a nursing home.  You go to both to die, but finding yourself in a nursing home means you don’t have to waste money on a two-year calendar.  My dad is 98 and has been chasing the chicks at an AL facility in my hometown in AL for three years.  Oh yeah, in case you thought octo and nonagenarians aren’t into a little hanky-panky when they are widowed and withered, think again.  These places are hot beads for VD.  (I’m on a roll with these acronyms.)  I know, not a pretty image right now, but many of you never thought you would be checking out the quinquagenarians.

Well, I’m just here to tell you that this AL thing is one of the new-fangled (look it up) developments in modern society that is a good thing.  You get fed three times a day, room cleaned, washing done, and a little fridge for your beer.  Plus, a bonus for you guys, about a 3:1 ratio of chicks for reasons I touched on above.

So drop those fantasies of living with your kids, if you have any.  Why would you think they should be different from my parent’s kids?  Plus there’s always payback for forcing them out of the house asap.

Now you know that there is a small flickering candle at the end of the tunnel.  An AL in AL awaits a lucky few.  Zippy-di-do-da, zippity-ti-day…

Gerald Cannon

About the Author

Gerald Cannon

I growed up po and ignant in Alabama. Then I went off to college and became a socialistic atheistic business school grad with an MBA. Not wanting to add evil capitalistic bastard to my resume, I obtained an antidote degree -the MFA. What a difference a letter makes. Now I teach college and make art. That's more fun and I'm less prone to drift toward the dark side. So, at the advanced age of sixty.... I have chosen mind over matter, joined the League of Defensive Pessimists and have no better answers, only fewer questions.

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