I have peaked

It's official.  I have peaked.

The realization hit me this weekend like an attack of the gout -- suddenly.  And yes, it burned.

It came after a Sunday afternoon visit to a lovely pumpkin patch.  After a traipse through the corn maze.  After I had not-so-gracefully plummeted down their 200-foot-long aluminum slide.  And after I had tried to get up.

Whilst attempting to "verticalize my assets" at the bottom of the slide, I experienced an unintentional discharge of rather raucous flatulence.

As luck would have it, there were witnesses nearby who can confirm my story.  Several witnesses, all of whom appeared to be of the female persuasion.  One cackled.  Maybe two.

I looked around for someone to blame.  Bupkus.

Dear Heloise, how do I extract myself from this situation with the least possible embarrassment?

"That ship has sailed, and sank," I imagine her writing back.

On my second attempt, I managed to stand without contributing any further to the auditory or olfactory delights of the Rockwellesque farm.  I told my captive audience they were welcome for the free entertainment, exited stage right, and with an urgency seldom seen in human history looked for somewhere to hide.

But even that was not what brought me to my downhill slide revelation.  That didn't come until the drive home when Mrs. Bone put her hand on my arm, gently squeezed, and smiled, "I'm proud of you."

"For what?" I wondered aloud.

Her smile grew.  

"There was a time when something like what happened at the bottom of that slide would have sent you into a panic.  You wouldn't have been able to enjoy anything for the rest of the day. And that’s if you didn't just leave entirely."

Oh, so what you're saying is I used to have some pride?

Anyhow, that's when it hit me.  That's when I knew.  I have peaked in life.  

I don't know when.  

Maybe it was my 26-point outburst in church league basketball.  (Sorry, "pre-season" church league basketball.)  Perhaps it was finishing second place in the mud volleyball tournament when I was eighteen.  Or maybe it was winning the Presidential Fitness Run in middle school when the two guys in front of me stopped after three laps thinking the race was over.

But probably sports-related.  As you can see, there is a lot to pick from.

Whatever it was, one thing is for certain: Being unable to control bodily functions while simply attempting to stand was definitely not it.

There are no more hills to climb.  I've crested my own personal Everest, though it was probably more like halfway to base camp.  

If I might inspire for a moment...

You will never be younger than you are today.  You will never have more time remaining on this Earth than you do right now.  Lastly, and may I say this one is far too often overlooked, you will never, ever be more continent than you are at this very second.

So hold it in, kings!  Hold it in while you still can.  Hold it as long as humanly possible.  (Actually, now that I’m looking on webMD that could be quite harmful, so maybe don’t try that last one.)

Thank you for allowing me that dalliance.

I remember when Mrs. Bone was proud of me for more momentous feats and occasions.  Things like remembering where I put the scissors, putting a fresh bag in the receptacle after I take out the trash, and finishing one bottle of water before I open three more.  (Just kidding about that last one.  I'm still chasing that elusive three-minute mile of husbanding.)

Now?

She's proud of me for what?  For powering through an unseemly and very public fit of flatulence and coming out the other side.

That's right, people.  My name is Bone.  I've fallen and I CAN get up!

Eventually.

I just make no promises as to what you may see, hear, or smell in the meantime.