I understand old guys now

I met an old friend for dinner yesterday, someone I've know, well, over 35 years now. We met in college, at the University of Detroit, (the University of Detroit Mercy be damned). We're Titans, the Titans of Dick Vitale and John Long and Terry Tyler. Y'all others are pretenders.

Over a few beers, which aren't healthy for us, supposedly, and with several plates of food not healthy for us either (say those supposedly concerned about our health), we discussed old times. We discussed new times too, and the conversation went something like this:

Oh, my back is tight. I took a fall a few years back and it goes out all the time.

I gotta watch what I eat. Diabetes runs in the family, so I worry about my sugar.

My last time to the doctor, my blood pressure's too high. So he says I can't eat anything I like.

You see my pinky? It swells up with rheumatoid arthritis so bad I can't hardly bend it. So does my thumb.

My left shoulder develops tendonitis from time to time. It hurts so bad I can't raise my arm.

I turn, just a bit, my back goes out. Poof, like that (snaps fingers).

Pause.

You wanna golf? Let's golf. The senior rate is $25 with a cart after 1 PM, and seniors are over 55. 18 holes.

18 holes? Let's do that.

And I thought, man, he's old. Then I immediately thought, so are you. You just spent a two hour dinner talking about all your aches and pains.

Ah well. Not something a little nip won't cure. And I have just the remedy at hand.