It's the Silver Foxes saying hey. I just got my weekly 20 percent off coupon from Bed Bath and Beyond, and I was so happy! WTF? I have a staunch history of being a man's man. Why do I get so excited to see that BB&B coupon? Sometimes I run over there, I don't need anything, but I buy a dishcloth or a chip clip for $1.49 and get my 20 percent off. I'm sure if my fishing buddies knew, they'd pull my Man Card, post-haste. What should I do?
— Beyond Help
You can borrow my Man Card. It's dusty from jugs inhibiting its use, plus it smells like rhubarb and urine. (Long story.)
Dudes who like coupons are dudes who like saving money. And those dudes are neat. I recently used a BB&B coupon for a 10-pack of night guards for my grinding teeth. I saved $2.59. I was so invigorated that I went home and rubbed one out to the receipt.
Let's talk about getting old.
We recently cleaned out our garage. I was awaiting Denver's "large trash" pickup with electrified anticipation for weeks. I discarded a ratty recliner on the edge of the alley, knowing a hoarder in a beat-up pickup truck would haul it away within minutes. They'd strap it atop pounds of copper scraps, broken tables, hail-damaged patio furniture and eroded wood planks, piled a clearance-busting 15 feet high. Usually, collectors pop like a.m. boners in my alley and nearly snatch the junk out of my arms before I can set it down. The recliner was slated for a shiny, new home.
Husband put a sign on it, "Free... Or better offer." A Homer Simpsonism, he explained. Maybe that deterred the confused alley wranglers. Three weeks and various drunk transient bounces later, it sat there, cloaked in eu de Sun-Baked Malt Liquor parfume and a fresh brown spot. (One booted transient wrapped herself in insulation for comfort. Mmm. Fiberglass.)
But big trash day was in sight. I, giddy in my kerchief, was squirting like Santa was bringing me a baker's dozen of kegs filled with Pin Grig (and a sack of cash and burritos).
Sure, Boulder, I felt like an ass-shit adding a recliner to a landfill, but I pictured it playing fetch with severed body parts on a nice Arapahoe County plot. I saw it snacking on moldy meat and used condoms. It could call Denver Araphoe Disposal Site its forever home.
So on large trash day, we celebrated its new voyage with crumpets, noisemakers and tallboys.
The morning after the recliner left us, a transient was spooning a 24-ounce Coors Light can and a package of cheese crackers on our lawn.
I miss you, recliner.
Point is, dear Fox, we're old. We need a Gen Zer (millennials are so last generation) to walk us through AI simulations that reignite pleasure zones. We need to take a spiritual trip to the Amazon, drink ayahuasca tea, throw up for days and come out of a weird trip with a thirst for something meaningful. Something that gives us purpose. Something that makes us feel like horny spring chickens. Something like a BOGO Subway footlong.
See you at McDonald's for free senior coffee tomorrow?