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You Have Questions; I Have Orange Fingers

So, I’m old now. I turned thirty-five a couple of weeks ago, which means the ride’s pretty much over, right? A couple of years watching Matlock and listening to Lawrence Welk, and then it’s all over. That’s okay — it’s been pretty much downhill since… well, since… hrm. Come to think of it, I don’t remember any ‘uphill’, to speak of. I imagine the whole breastfeeding thing was probably pretty sweet, but I don’t recall any of that. And it’s a little creepy to think about at this point, so that’s probably okay.

Anyway, the most important thing for me in my ‘twilight years’ is that I don’t forget anything else. I never knew all that much shit to begin with; I can’t afford to lose any of the few facts I’ve managed to pound into my neurons. So, I’ve got to try to stay sharp, keep the old brain from mushing up.

To that end, I’ve recruited my wife to help. We’ve set up a system to help each other keep our minds fresh. Not that she has to worry about getting old, of course. She’ll be twenty-three for the next thirty years, apparently. Maybe her math skills are already deteriorating — I don’t dare to ask, honestly.

At any rate, we’ve decided to keep our thinkers in top shape with some random quizzing. When we run into each other — in the kitchen, on the couch, in the shower, whereever — we’ll toss out a question or two, to keep the gray matter wiggling. So, for instance, I might see her making the bed, and ask:

‘Quick! What’s the capital of Morocco?‘

And then she’ll think for a bit, and come up with an answer. Unfortunately, I don’t actually know what the capital of Morocco is, so I can’t tell her whether she’s right. Not exactly ideal. So, I try and ask easier ones, that I can get right myself. Like ‘what comes after Tuesday?’, or ‘what’s the dog’s name?’. Or, even better:

‘Hey — name a sexual position involving cheese!‘

(No? Don’t know that one? I’ll give you a minute.)

(Still scratching your noggin? I was looking for ‘The Flying Dutchman’. That’s right — Dutchman. I would have also accepted ‘Gouda Vibrations’, ‘Madam, I’m Edam’, or ‘Camembert-ly Legal’. Or maybe others, if you can think of one I missed. I can’t wait to see those.)

Of course, the questions I get back are a little different. First of all, my wife is exceptionally intelligent. So, at first, she was asking me to take the square root of some big number or other, or translate some gibberish from French or Japanese or Sanskrit, or to spell some ridiculous word with nineteen letters and a silent ‘v’. Eventually, when those questions left me stunned and drooling, she dumbed them down for me. So that works out. Sometimes.

The other problem is that I’m a guy. Thirty-something. Sports fan. Lazy. Not so terribly bright. So, often her quizzing strategy changes a bit. She’ll see me lying on the couch, watching TV, and ask:

‘Are you going to waste the whole day like that?‘

(Easy one. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.‘ Duh.)

Or maybe: ‘When are you going to make something of yourself?‘

(Uhhhhhh. Damn. That’s a toughie. Pass.)

How about: ‘What happened to the man I married?‘

(Jeez, another head-scratcher. Lessee… How about, ‘he discovered the joy of Chee-tos and beer‘. Is it ‘discovered Chee-tos and beer‘? Honey? Hello? What’s the right answer?)

Meh. Maybe it’s better my mind should go soft. At least then I won’t remember missing all those questions. Sweet dementia, here I come!