Banana Sunrise Chair

I attend big parties where everyone is welcome like Free Car Wash and Tax Return Day at the local car dealership. But I am no longer invited to intimate dinner parties. My wife Mollie claims guests were horrified when I politely asked to finish food that they had not consumed. I should have eaten right before dinner parties like I did for luncheon job interviews. Two weeks ago at a milestone birthday party on a dry docked ferry boat, Mollie prevented me from using the microphone to verify whether she was the oldest person on board. So I circulated among the elderly and subtly probed for age clues by introducing the topic of Medicare Wellness Exams. Mollie says she is not going to any more parties but my friend Finlo says she will change her mind when I finally flunk Medicare Wellness with a capital F.

Spoiler Alert: the three words you memorize to prove cognitive capability have remained the same: Banana Sunrise Chair. I once said “sunset” but the doctor let that slide. Before my recent Medicare Wellness Exam, I even heard those famous words used on an episode of Family Law. Still I get nervous. The doctor makes you draw a clock and set the hands at 11:10 to distract you from remembering the three words. I cannot walk from my den to the kitchen to get a banana without forgetting about the banana. Will future senior citizens be drawing rectangular digital clocks? I do not know why I try to game the system. I am stuck with crooked teeth because I corrected my overbite for the X-Rays. My glasses are out of focus because I memorize the eye chart when left alone in the optometrist’s exam room. At least I get a driver’s license if I commit the DMV eye chart to memory. My feet are an ugly mess from a combination of genetics, long distance running, and my own shameful negligence because I cannot even touch my toes without cracking a rib. My feet scare my grandchildren and the doctor keeps asking, “Are you sure they don’t hurt?” She wonders how I can hear with all that wax in my right ear. I am strangely annoyed when doctors keep pestering me to take statins. I feel like I have caught them in a conspiracy to save my life.

I also have difficulty filling out all the medical questionnaires. I have to check that I am never stressed to the point of depression because the next choice is two days every week. Fortunately, I can offer them something to pounce on when I admit to falling down in the last year. I am suspicious of anyone who has never been stressed, depressed, or taken a fall. Yes, my balance has deteriorated over the years along with every single other bodily part and function. I hold the Guiness World Record for falling at least once in 77 consecutive years. I can even fall out of bed. Doctors do not dwell on good news. They relentlessly dig for scandal. Mine just wanted a yes/no answer to whether I went to the dentist regularly. The wax in my ear caused me to miscommunicate in an awkward and embarrassing verbal exchange. I was still bragging about brushing and flossing my teeth “twice a day” when my doctor had already moved on to the sexual activity category on the checklist. I have always been uncoordinated but when you do something 10,000 times, you develop certain skills, For instance, I am instinctively balancing the steering wheel on my left knee which has freed my hands to type this very post on my