COMMON SCENTS

This is a very provocative way to start a column, but I must admit something: I can’t keep my pants on. I try very hard, especially at parties, but inevitably they’re almost off by the end of the evening.

So, what’s the problem? I have lost my hips. Where did they go? Who has them? Is there any way to get them back? Is there a cost involved?

Mary Ellen tells me that as men get older, their hips often disappear. I remember now that my father, when he was about my age, started wearing suspenders. I thought that made him look very old, and not very hip. But “hip” is the key word here. I recall my mother telling my grandmother that “Arnie keeps losing his pants.” I wasn’t surprised. Forgetfulness runs in my family.

This is not the first thing I have lost as I have aged. My hair has thinned, but at least I know where it went: in the sink.

My hearing has worsened over the years, so my wife, thinking I needed hearing aids, insisted I check in at Costco. I thought she said to get a chicken at Costco. I bought about 10 of them that first week, but my hearing never improved.

I have also lost my sense of smell. I can’t smell food, perfume, or even a skunk. One friend told me I might have a brain tumor. If I have one, I’ve had it for 25 years. Medical advice from friends usually stinks. Not that I would know when something stinks.

I checked the internet, and it looks like I may have a disorder called anosmia, which one expert claims is sometimes caused by intranasal drug abuse. I could be losing my memory, too, because I have no recollection of ever putting anything in my nose except occasionally a carrot, just so I can say to the little kids I tutor, “My doctor says I’m not eating right.”

I am coping with all these aging problems. For my hair, I have created a comb-over that rivals our president, and my new hearing aids are great. When people ask, “What kind is it?” I get to say, “about 6:30.” Old joke, but still funny.

The smell issue is more challenging. Amazon doesn’t sell a single gadget I can attach to my proboscis to help me compete with noses half my age. One website suggested that you might want to employ a person you trust to tell you whether you have foul-smelling breath or a piece of clothing that requires washing.  I pleaded with my wife to take the job. I told her that if she were my odor-buddy, I’d take her on vacation anywhere she wanted. I don’t think she trusted me.

 “This whole idea smells fishy to me,” said Mary Ellen.

That’s all I needed to hear. She had the job.

Now, it probably sounds to you that I am an aging old man. But I must tell you that when I look in the mirror, I think I am quite handsome.

Of course, I am also losing my vision.