Today is the day I finally accepted that I'm dying of old age.

You see, I turned fifty, that dread age where your last pretensions of youth are stripped away and you are forced to come to the realization that your ride on the razor blade of life is getting shorter. I got my mailing from the AARP and a discount coupon on Geritol. Fifty is the age where you stop dropping dead from drugs and start keeling over for no reason whatsoever. Fifty is the age where all those French Fries start fighting back. Hot Wings start burning. You're put on low cholesterol diets and the caffiene that got you through midterms is now verboten. It is the age all those adult diaper ads target. It's the age where pretty young girls start calling you honey, only from now on it means that you haven't a prayer.

Unless you're a multimillionaire.

Women need to understand that being a man requires a certain level of self-delusion. No matter how old we get inside we're all certan Scarlett Johansson will go out with us if only we got the chance. We pretend we've still 'got it' even though our waistline has become a used beer storage unit. We can still undress you with our eyes even though we need bifocals.

Not anymore. No more delusions. I have entered farthood. Kirsten Dunst will never know what she missed.

Only the promise of gumjobs keeps me going.

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