A Man’s Age, as Determined by aTrip to Home Depo
You are in the middle of a few projects at your home: putting in a new fence, painting the basement walls, putting in a new garden.You are hot and sweaty, covered in dust, lawn clippings, dirt and paint. You have your old work clothes on. You know the outfit — shorts with the hole in the crotch, oldT-shirt with a stain from who-knows-what, and an old pair of tennis shoes.
Right in the middle of these projects you realize you need to run to Home Depot for supplies. Depending on your age you might do the following:
In your 20s:
Stop what you are doing. Shave, take a shower, blow dry your hair, brush your teeth, floss and put on clean clothes.
Check yourself in the mirror and flex. Add a dab of your favorite cologne because, you never know, you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout line. And yes, you went to school with the pretty girl running the register.
In your 30s:
Stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts and shirt. Change your shoes. You married the hot chick so no need for much else.
Wash your hands and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror. Still got it. Add a shot of your favorite cologne to cover the smell. The cute girl running the register is the kid sister to someone you went to school with.
In your 40s:
Stop what you are doing. Put on a sweatshirt that is long enough to cover the hole in the crotch of your shorts.
Put on different shoes and a hat. Wash your hands. Your bottle of Brute is almost empty, so don’t waste any of it on a trip to Home Depot. Check yourself in the mirror and do more sucking in than flexing.
The hot young thing running the register is your daughter’s age and you feel weird about thinking she’s spicy.
In your 50s:
Stop what you are doing. Put on a hat. Wipe the dirt off your hands onto your shirt. Change shoes because you don’t want to get dog crap in your new sports car. Check yourself in the mirror and swear not to wear that shirt anymore
because it makes you look fat.
The cutie running the register smiles when she sees you coming and you think you still have it. Then you remember — the hat you have on is from Bubba’s Bait & Beer Bar and it says, ‘I Got Worms’.
In your 60s:
Stop what you are doing. No need for a hat any more. Hose the dog crap off your shoes. The mirror was shattered when you were in your 50s. You hope you have underwear on so nothing hangs out the hole in your pants.
The girl running the register may be cute but you don’t have your glasses on, so you’re not sure.
In your 70s:
Stop what you are doing. Wait to go to Home Depot until the drug store has your prescriptions ready too. Don’t even notice the dog crap on your shoes. The young thing at the register stares at you and you realize your balls are hanging out the hole in your crotch.
In your 80s:
Stop what you are doing. Start again. Then stop again. Now you remember you need to go to Home Depot. Go to Wal-Mart instead.
You went to school with the old lady greeter.
You wander around trying to remember what you are looking for. Then you fart out loud and think someone called your name.
In your 90s & beyond:
What’s a home deep hoe? Something for my garden?
Where am I? Who am I? Why am I reading this?
Did I send it? Did you? Who farted?
