Manopausal Medicine

Every man's medicine cabinet is littered with out-of-date prescriptions and has-been pills.  But as the older male stretches into manopause he discovers that his assortment is little more than a witness to a by-gone era.  He no longer needs Brylcreme, for example, and he wonders who did.

Gone also is the need for such illustrious wonder-working potions as the multi-vitamin . . . at his age, and with his now-limited diet, he should be able to get 100% of the recommended daily allowance from a single banana.  In addition, he no longer needs his 45-year old vial of Carter's Little Pills (what were they, and why were they so small?), his Grecian Formula (hell, he'd need a gallon to color every gray hair on his body!), and his 30-year-old tube or Preparation-H (really, when was the last time he jammed that stuff up his rear and who was the last one to use the tube? Was it Dad?).

No, the manopausal male cleans out his medicine cabinet and rids himself of his history:  decades of expired drugs that were once so potent they could turn his tongue green and make his eyeballs spin in their sockets.  Now, these vials are only toxic to look at.  The sight of them sickens him, as he realizes that some day soon he will be self-supporting the entire pharmaceutical industry through a single refill.

Eventually the older male realizes that he will no longer need a decongestant or a cough syrup--especially the 25-year-old variety that his been sitting on the shelf since the Reagan administration.  Rather, if he becomes ill, he will use his sick days and enjoy a week's vacation at home watching The Young and the Restless.  He will fix himself hot chicken soup and order Chinese.  He will cough up a lung, return to work, and tell Finkelstein in accounting that he was working from home and actually accomplished more because he didn't have to wear a paisley necktie.

Once the manopausal male has cleaned out his medicine cabinet, he can begin utilizing this space for other ends: storing flashlight batteries, stockpiling small bags of nacho chips, and decorating the second shelf with miniature sculptures created from toenail clippings and toothpaste.

Later, he will consult his doctor and ask for the drugs he really needs.  These he will buy in bulk from Costco and consume like jelly beans.

And his wife will ask him every morning:  "Have you taken your pills?"

The Age of the Superhero

We live in the age of the superhero.  And nearly every manopausal male has a favorite.  All are "men", of course.  There's Superman, Spiderman, Batman.  Each attends to fighting evil with his various assortments of gadgets or gizmos. 

The older male likes to think of himself as a type of superhero, but instead of fighting evil or crime, he's fighting the insidious onslaught of arthritis.  He's waging war against the elusive Dr. Gout.  He dreams of wearing a cape and getting the girl.

Secretly, older males wish that Hollywood and graphic artists would not depict these superheroes in tights.  He knows he would not look good in a leotard, especially chartreuse, and would forever be tugging at the fabric wedged between his butt cheeks.  Tights are not realistic.  But the older male dreams of a superhero named Oldman or Graybeard or Pharmacyman--a superhero who could embody the concerns of the older male population and represent him among the pantheon of crusaders.

The manopausal male no longer dreams of saving the world.  He has tempered his imagination and now dreams of saving money on car insurance.  If he is lucky, he can save half of his dinner steak in a doggie bag for lunch the following day.  His only strength resides in his ability to see his own weaknesses and to arrive at the conclusion that he is fortunate to still have a willing wife (Wonderwoman). 

Men of a certain age do, however, frequently fly through the air.  But now, when they land they break a hip.  Afterwards, they receive a super-bill for services rendered.

Superheroes are normally portrayed in the prime of life.  We don't know what happens to older superheroes, or where they go to die.  But the manopausal male still considers himself invincible.  He doesn't don a cape, but he can work a spatula and he keeps his arsenal of lawn equipment at hand.  He keeps his gaze ever fixated upon the skies, waiting for the signal to appear that will vault him into his costume and onto his riding mower.







 

Card Carrying Member

By the time the male species has entered manopause, his hip pocket is bulging under the extra fat of his wallet, for he is porting a preponderance of plastic cards--all designed to give value to his life and siphon gigantic sums of money from his bank account.  His wallet is loaded with cards for car insurance, health insurance, dental, gym membership, debit, and grocery.  He may also be porting gift cards, key cards, rental cards and, under certain circumstances, a stack of family photos that makes him walk like Charlie Chaplin and is leading him toward a hip replacement. 

The older man, however, enjoys carrying these cards. Whenever he opens his wallet in the grocery store and a pile of cards tumble out, he feels tough.  The sight of these cards sends an adrenaline rush through his system.  He hopes the younger females of the species will take note and swoon at the sight of his Senior Discount Card from McDonalds.  

Often, when the manopausal male is in league with other older men, he will compare notes, and ask how much they have saved by switching to Geico.  He will calculate how much a senior discount will save him on an oil change at Grease Monkey.

Naturally, there are older men who flaunt their card-carrying status, pointing out that they were just recently accepted into the American Express Club or were given Gold status at Hertz rental car.  Others attempt to trump these accomplishments by mentioning their frequent-flyer miles or by flashing the Blue Cross Blue Shield insurance card that paid for their most recent colonoscopy and polyp removal.  And yes, a few older men--but these are just the scum bags--feel obligated to flash their CVS discount cards to prove that they saved $1.95 on their most recent Viagra prescription.

Most older males, however, go about their card-carrying duties with an air of humility.  They realize that a 10% discount card at Home Depot will only take them so far (maybe through a pack of 40-watt bulbs) and after that, they will have to hire help or ask their wives to fix the sink.  They don't flaunt the plastic in their wallets and, in order to save themselves from the air of disapproval, they eat off the Wendy's value menu instead of brandishing a VISA at Applebees. 

Eventually, the manopausal male will pre-plan his own funeral and pay for it by writing a bad check.  He knows it will bounce.  But it beats credit.  And the funeral director will never be able to discuss the matter with the deceased.

    

Mr. Domestic

The traditional American marriage consists of one man at rest and one woman laboring under the burden of housework.  However, as any manopausal male can attest, a woman's expectations rise on the sharp curve of ageing, and once the nest is emptied of children, a man can expect to shoulder far more of the domestic pursuits.  Essentially he will be doing everything around the house in exchange for his wife's salary and the promise of a yearly sexual rendezvous, which usually lasts about three minutes.

The older male becomes adept at cooking, cleaning, scouring, mopping, scrubbing, stacking, shining and vacuuming.  (He does not, however, under any circumstances, wash windows or do laundry.  His wife knows he can wear a single thread of underwear for weeks on end and this will pressure her to do a load.)

As time passes in the empty nest, the manopausal male also begins to clip coupons and create shopping lists.  He watches for meat specials and buys in bulk.  He inspects expiration dates.  And then one day his wife comes home, opens the freezer, and discovers that he has stuffed it with 250 Swanson's Low-Calorie Meatloaf dinners because these were "on special."

It takes four months to eat through this inventory, but the manopausal male doesn't mind.  He enjoys meatloaf and can eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  His wife, on the other hand, craves variety.  She not only enjoys variety in food, but craves a broad array of scents.  So he purchases a Yankee candle (Lavender).

This is when the manopausal male realizes that he has come full-circle.  He is concerned with fresh scents around the house, and can no longer tolerate the odors of kid vomit, fermented teenage T-shirts, or dirty diapers.  He purchases a two-gallon caraf of Old Spice.

In time, he comes to see himself as a Domestic Expert.  He begins to give his wife advice on proper dishwashing technique and he throws a tantrum if she leaves a bowl of cereal on the dining room table.  

Eventually, as the man and woman age, their eyesight becomes so dim they no longer see the dust balls on the floor and they begin to operate under the delusion that they are living with an attractive spouse.  This period is known as "the golden years", and the man can't wait to get there so he can hire a young maid to mop the kitchen floor.   

Empty Nest

The male at mid-life begins to look forward to "the empty nest"--which is that moment in time when the last child leaves home and the cat is buried.  Naturally, the older male has mixed feelings about this new phase of life, but generally these feelings are tempered by extremes that could best be described as "elation", "gratification" and "phosphorescent joy".

Once the nest is empty, of course, the older male dreams of filling his time with new hobbies such as sex, rest, and sex.  These hobbies have, of course, been difficult to achieve during the twenty-three year supervision of children and the teenage inquires at the bedroom door such as, "Can you tone it down?" or "What's all the ruckus about?" or "What are you two doing in there?!"

The older male feels a sense of relief when the empty nest is finally achieved, and he realizes that he only has a few good months remaining in his life.  He will soon be dead, which is the same as being a eunuch, and he wants to get on with it post-haste.  Naturally, this fills him with a sense of urgency and, in the first few weeks of the empty nest period, he may go nuts.  Honeymoon nuts!  His wife will want to move out.

However, as the empty nest period progresses, the older male will settle into his usual boring self and his life will return to normalcy.  He will begin working long hours once again and his menopausal wife will remind him, from time to time, that they should at least check in with their grown children by phone.  The older male will, of course, ask, "What children?"

The wife will, at this point, produce photographs from her purse, weep for the lost ones, and ask, "Where did it all go?"

The male will point to his expanding waistline, clutch at the rumbling in his gut, and return to the kitchen to fix himself another bologna sandwich while his wife mourns.  Later, he will remind her that they are, in fact, alone in the house and that the cat is buried in the yard and that there is nothing to stop them from watching two hours of nude Jeopardy.  The male will also offer to remove his pants while he cooks dinner and will remind his wife that he is willing to perform a dance to any Josh Groban tune.

Later in the evening, after the older male and his wife have worked an additional six hours at home, they will realize that it is past midnight and they  must rise at five a.m.  They have come full circle and returned to their old habits.  They have both forgotten that the cat is dead.

And so they decide to sleep together in the empty nest.  But the only feathers are the ones inside their pillows.  And these are not getting ruffled. 



 

Recipe For Success

After the older male and his wife have surpassed the silver anniversary mark, there are many who begin asking, "What's your secret?"  These unsuspecting folks naturally make the assumption that there is a recipe for marital success and that, if followed, they could achieve such longevity as well.

This, of course, is a myth . . . much like Sasquatch or an effective Congress, and intelligent couples realize that longevity is produced only through proper nutrition and regular check-ups with the proctologist.  Furthermore, recipes for success do vary, with some long-standing couples living several states apart and conversing over Skype, while other successful couples live under the same roof and purchase sofas.

The manopausal male, however, always points to his wife as the secret of his success and mentions her often at poker games.  He will note that his wife can still dance and that, on certain occasions, she will also cook meatloaf.  These small affirmations are essential to a successful marriage, and as the male ages, he stuff his quiver full of them.

The wife, also, will follow suit and note that her husband is the same man she married decades before.  Sure, he may have lost most of his hair and his libido has slipped to the granny cog, but overall he's adequate.  He is walking erect most days and has not yet succumbed to an Advil addiction.  He still kisses her on anniversaries and weekends.

In essence, the successful marriage is built on waning eyesight and the inability of either spouse to inspect the package of goods they are currently living with.  The older mind plays tricks on reality, and the most successful couples believe that they are living on the set of Leave it to Beaver.  Some older couples no longer talk to each other--which actually helps--and in time they settle in to watching 14-hours of television a day and asking, "Did you say something?" 

Once the hearing goes, these successful couples press on toward the golden anniversary, or death, whichever comes first, and they begin to think about their estate planning.  In time, most couples will realize that they have no estate to plan and can find ultimate relaxation at a place like Shady Grove or Slippery Pines.

Later, of course, God will want to know, "What was your secret?"

Fortunately, the older loving couple has an eternity to figure out the answer.   

Anniversary Analysis

When it comes to wedding anniversaries, the older male can often benefit from psychoanalysis.  In these sessions, for example, he learns that everything is his mother's fault and the therapist can suggest many other coping mechanisms that can help him transfer the remaining blame to his wife.  In essence, he discovers that he would be much better suited to living in a cave as a savage, and that evening he asks his wife to consider moving to a hut, preferably one that is in a pizza delivery zone.

A wedding anniversary is a reminder that men and women are, in many respects, of differing species.  While the man, as primate, is suited for utilitarian purposes such as cleaning a carburetor with a grease-soaked rag, the female seems more suited to wearing beautiful leopard-skin attire and selecting home decor.  Men are hunters.  Women are nesters. 

Few men hunt today because they would shoot their eyes out.  And so, in order to make due and give themselves the experience of hunting game, they work at Radio Shack and attempt the far more difficult work of selling out-dated technology to senior citizens.  This is also why so many younger men are electrocuted trying to operate police scanners.

Wedding anniversaries are, of course, the vestige of a by-gone era in which people used to stay married until their teeth fell out.  Many marriages of eras past ended in hangings instead of divorce, and today men cope with these longer marriages by attending football games and lusting after June Cleaver.

Psychoanalysis helps the older male by allowing him to explore his mind.  Here he discovers that he has already lost it . . . and so he compensates by eating bags of potato chips and watching Dragnet reruns.  And as the older menopausal woman continues to change, the older man sleeps on his side of the bed, wondering when it God's name he will be allowed to cover himself in a sheet.  The nights are cold, but according to his mate, they are living in an oven that is hot enough to roast a fifty pound turkey.

The latter anniversaries of a marriage can be analyzed in a variety of ways, and the older male picks one or two of these theories and learns to live in it.  One theory, of course, is that he is still in love . . . and this is why he takes his wife to dinner and attempts, afterwards, to initiate a sexual encounter with phrases like, "Would you like desert?" or "Mind if I sit naked on the couch and watch The Big Bang Theory?"

Another theory is simply this:  that no other woman would have him and this is the best it's going to get.  He learns to live with the latter.  And he realizes he will be writing blogs until he dies.