You know the answers but nobody asks you any questions.
You get winded playing checkers.
You need a fire permit to light all of your birthday candles and you need oxygen after blowing them out.
You order Geritol on the rocks.
You sink your teeth into a thick steak and they stay there.
You stop to think and sometimes forget to start again.
You don't need an alarm clock to get up with the chickens.
Your pacemaker opens the garage door whenever a cute gal goes by.
The only whistles you get are from a tea kettle.
A fortune-teller wants to read your face.
You finally get it all together, but can't remember where you put it.
You pray for a good prune juice harvest.
Everything hurts. And what doesn't hurt, doesn't work anyway.
Your little black book contains only names ending with M.D.
You look forward to a dull evening.
You join a health club and never go.
You need your glasses to find your glasses.
You sit in a rocking chair and can't get it going.
Your knees buckle, but your belt won't.
You have too much room in the house, and not enough in the medicine chest.