You can cut the atmosphere with a scalpel as John drives me to Urogynae. ‘Is it what he did?’ He gestures towards my groin.

I shake my head. ‘I’ve told you, just my age, childbirth … lots of women ….’

John’s trying to understand; after all, there are things I could do for him, but I don’t seem too interested any more. I’m his wife. We’re not that old. Somehow when the Kegals stopped working and the lubes became useless—it was something about the pain — the fear of tearing — something about the way John grunted while I tried to ignore my aching wrist — somehow, the words spewed out — exploded out — like vomit you’re trying to hold onto while you careen towards the bathroom.

That’s when I realized, I’d held them in too long — way too long. Now there’s no taking them back. Every Wednesday, I spit out my truth along with mouthfuls of profanities. Cunt is my armour and Bastard my sword. That’s how I share with my group over strong coffee and #MeToo iced biscuits. Together, we snap chocolate dicks in half and chomp them into nothingness.

I’m all polite phrasing and textbook terminology with medics. Formal words that make me cringe. Doctor Sarah sees me squirm and makes gentle quips about lady gardens and dodgy foundations.
She nudges aside flesh which doesn’t want to capitulate and I hold my breath.

‘If things get too difficult, do say. Tension doesn’t help. Sometimes talking makes things easier.’

Just what my therapist said. I believed her.

John was beyond furious that I’d waited forty years to tell him. Forty years I let him believe I’d never been manhandled and bruised like spoiled fruit. It’s easy to forgive him for needing to know everything about the guy. ‘My woman,’ is harder.

At last, we leave the clinic and head for the supermarket. I’ve promised to make steak pie tonight. He’s promised we’ll watch a film and snuggle on the sofa. Just snuggle. I need time; he gets it; we both need time. John curses as a white Volvo snatches the nearest parking spot. “Bastard. I was here first. I was bloody well here first.” He’s not talking about the space. There are plenty more.

Maybe we’ll work this out, maybe we won’t, but right now, I’m thinking about me — right now — my vagina is falling apart.

Heather D. Haigh is a working-class Yorkshire England writer.  https://haigh19c.wixsite.com/heatherbooknook

Yeah. It rhymes. But that’s not the best part. We’re quite self-deprecating when you examine the body of our work. The tricky part is knowing whether to laugh at our jokes or cringe.

Here’s an example; the first of many:

“Name a city that changed your life.”

“Wuhan.”

Get it? Of course you did. I don’t know why I even felt the need to ask.

Much of boomer humor can be found – where else, on Facebook, Instagram and Reddit.

Here’s a typical example:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boomers don’t need pictures to get funny. Here’s some of their wordplay (behold the irony):

Behind every successful baby boomer zoom webinar there is an underpaid 24-year-old intern with a 115 wpm typing speed.

Boomer purgatory is the iOS emoji keyboard. Right now there are thousands of them trapped there, unable to send a picture they’ve taken of a computer screen to a person they met at a farmer’s market. 

As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned that pleasing everyone is impossible, but pissing everyone off is a piece of cake.

As I watch this generation try and rewrite our history, I’m sure of one thing: It will be misspelled and have no punctuation.

I haven’t gotten anything done today. I’ve been in the produce department trying to open this stupid plastic bag.

So, you’ve been eating hot dogs and McChickens all your life, but you won’t take the vaccine because you don’t know what’s in it. Are you kidding me?

Coffee was just a dime in my time. Now it’s a whole lecture about beans and brewing.

Respect your parents. They graduated from high school before there was Google.

Well, I think a man who tells people he’s boss in his home will lie about other things too.

What’s the difference between a baby boomer and an avocado? One is a soft, wrinkly vegetable. The other one is an avocado.

I have convinced my grandma that the baby boomers are as dependent on technology as us. When she said ” you millenials are so addicted to technology,” I quickly glanced at her life support. That was the last time she said it.

If I had a dollar every time a baby boomer insulted me, I could afford a house in the economy they ruined.

And this one got to me….seriously:

My mind is like an internet browser. At least 19 open tabs, 3 of them are frozen, and I have no clue where the music is coming from.

See? We can do funny.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all – you can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

 

 

 

We’re finally at the point where everyone starts complaining about the heat. That means the weather is just how I like it.

I’ve lived in famous hot spots, including Southern California, Texas, Alabama, South Carolina and Egypt. The Sacramento area can get pretty toasty, but comparatively, it’s minor league.

However, this is the point where I must modify some of my golf protocols. I experienced heat exhaustion once playing golf in Texas. Heat exhaustion is no joke, so this is my official warning to be smart about hot weather.

My number one tip is when it really gets beastly, do everything in the morning. I hate getting up early these days, but sometimes you’ve got to do it. The good news is you get done early and have time for a nap!

It’s not that bad yet. First thing is to dig the windshield sun shade out of the rubble in the garage and put it in the car. I forgot last Friday, the first real hot day, and wowser, that steering wheel was hot when I finished my round. Also, crack open the windows a tiny bit for air flow.

Cell phones are another issue. I don’t take mine with me when I play because I find phones very annoying on the golf course, but I need to turn it off if I leave it in the car. My phone started to overheat on Friday and went into that mode where it starts shutting down apps.

And then there’s my rig. I have a nice pushcart with a solar umbrella and a cup holder for a big bottle of water. I put a couple more bottles of water in a cooler that straps on. Included in this luxury set-up is a “cool towel” and a battery-operated fan. Oh, and a spray bottle with water. Spray some water on your face and stand in front of the fan — it’s like outdoor air conditioning.

Finally, I need to make sure I actually drink all the water and supplement it with an electrolyte drink. If I’m a little dehydrated, I can get leg cramps at night. A fellow golfer taught me a trick that is quite odd but very effective! Eat a spoonful of yellow mustard. It’s like a miracle.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.

It’s a thing. Boomers are getting divorced in large numbers. Sixteen million people aged 65 and older in the U.S. lived solo in 2022. That’s 3 times the number who did so in the 1960’s.

Remember when Tipper left Al Gore in 2010. We were shocked –– kind of. They had been married for 40 years. Bill and Melinda Gates? Justin and Sophie Trudeau? Yep, that’s a clear pattern. And it’s not some celebrity thing. Divorce rates for persons over 50 doubled between 1990 and 2010. Currently, one third of all divorces are people over 50.

The covid pandemic may have had some bearing as couples discovered they had different perspectives on vaccines, masking, and the politics of it all in general. Then there’s also unfaithfulness and other transgressions that can send a marriage south. The fact remains that these so called “silver splitters” just get to a place where they want to live apart, to fulfill their own goals untethered by a loveless union.

For many boomers, the option of remaining with a partner in a loveless or unhappy union represents a waste of what they hoped would be some of the best years of their lives. Many of these boomers are remaining single rather than jumping into new relationships and marriage. About 50 per cent remain alone several years after ending their marriages.

The number of single-person households headed by people over 75 is shooting up fast, and expected to number 14 million by 2038. Since most of these boomers show no interest in repartnering, there could be a real crisis in eldercare looming ahead. More often than not, the silver splitters are also splitting their nest eggs, cutting their savings by half. That can add significant pressure on their lifestyle and financial stability.

Not surprisingly, loneliness looms as one of the greatest disadvantages to living alone. Double duh!! Even if the financial situation is relatively stable, boomers going solo report that even when they make numerous social connections and build community involvement, it does not buffer them from a high degree of loneliness.

The trend is clearly going to continue but mental health experts, as well as financial planners, warn that the downsides can outweigh the upsides.

If you’ve contemplated splitting, you might want to heed the words/song by Eric Idle: Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all – you can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

 

The case for age maximums. Whoa! Are people really talking about that? Yes.

We’ve always had age minimums. You couldn’t get a drivers license until you were 16. You couldn’t vote until you were 21, then it became 18. Workers need to be 14 or 16 for most jobs, and now some politicians want to change that to 12 (and shame on them!). You need to be age 35 to be President (more about that in a moment). Military service requires enlistees to be at least 17. In most states you need to be at least 18 to marry and some pols want to lower that minimum (shame on them too!). You must be 18 to rent a car, and coincidentally the reason for that is because it’s the minimum age to sign a contract.

Perhaps because there’s been so much attention given to Biden’s age (and Trump’s), the discussions about age maximums have come to the fore. Looking at the rationale for age minimums, you would have to conclude that the reasoning behind them was a sense that one must be mature enough to fight, vote, marry, drive or work.

Okay, then why have age maximums? Are we not mature enough? We’re like fine aged cheddar or Parmigiano-Reggiano. If maturity is not the problem, what then? Surveys suggest that most voters believe there should be an age maximum for elected officials. The problem arises when the discussion turns to what the age maximum should be. Should it be the age when they run for office or the age they must resign from office?

One man’s senility is another man’s maverickness (that can’t be a word but it should be). Bernie Sanders was 77 when he ran in 2020, a year older than Biden. Are some 80-somethings still sharp when it comes to decision-making and cognizance? Most definitely the answer is yes. That means it will be very hard to define exactly how old is too old. (Going back to age minimums for a moment, you could also make the case that some 16-year-olds are probably mature enough to vote and possibly more maturely than their parents.)

I don’t want to get paranoid about this, but if there are going to be age maximums for elected officials, couldn’t they cap the drinking age next? Going to have a real problem with that one.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.