Gravity is the enemy. Time is the enemy. Clothes shrink uncontrollably.
It isn’t easy, but I’ve come to grips with most of it. And I have complained here about my ever-expanding forehead and various other unpleasant physical changes.
The other night, though I got blindsided.
I’ve never thought of myself as an overly talented person, but I have always had a knack for making people laugh.
Since I was pre-school age, I have known I possessed this ability.
In fact, at a high school reunion just a few years ago, one of my friends told me my sense of humor is what he always remembers about me.
I am afraid, however, that my humor is nearing its expiration date.
A few nights ago, I was talking with a few people at a social gathering. During the course of the conversation, I made a comment I thought was pretty funny, but no one laughed.
Then, I joked about how no one laughed at my original joke.
A young lady in the group (who wasn’t all that young) said, “It was funny, but it was a dad joke.”
I wasn’t 100 percent sure exactly what she meant, but I had a pretty good idea. Certainly, I knew it wasn’t meant as a compliment.
So I looked up the definition of a dad joke.
Wikipedia says, “The dad joke is a pejorative term used to describe a corny, unfunny, or predictable joke, typically a pun. Generally inoffensive, dad jokes are traditionally told by fathers among family, either with sincere humorous intent, or to intentionally provoke a negative reaction to its ‘dagginess.’”
Then I looked up dagginess. It means not trendy, out of fashion, uncool. Obviously, I was too uncool to know what dagginess meant.
Well, isn’t this just great news.
If I had known my sense of humor was going to go out of style nearly as quickly as my Member’s Only jacket, I would’ve kept up those piano lessons in the third grade.
To add insult to injury, over the weekend, my 22-year-old son said people my age who like contemporary pop music are thought of among his generation as “creepy.”
That was right after I corrected him for saying Taylor Swift had a song called “Bad Love.”
The song is titled “Bad Blood.”
Everybody knows that, right?
I don’t think liking some contemporary music makes me creepy. It’s not like I’m getting ear gauges and hanging out at a hookah lounge.
I like Taylor Swift. Of course, I cannot relate to her lyrics the way most of her fans do, but t I still appreciate the way she can write fun, hooky pop songs.
That’s pretty much all pop music is supposed to be, anyway.
What happened to “age is just a number?” In this case, it seems more like “age is just a number, and the bigger your number the more repulsive you become.”
I thought I was witty and in-touch with society. Turns out now I’m unfunny — and creepy to boot.
I’m probably on some dad joke database somewhere that precludes me from living within 300 feet where cool people congregate. I should check to see if I’ve been banned from going to the mall on weekend nights.
I should get a flower that squirts water or an exploding cigar.
On the other hand, I’ve been known to over react from time to time. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now. Maybe I’m putting too much stock in other peoples’ opinions.
I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’m going to stay the course. I’m going to keep saying the things I think are funny and hope it makes people laugh. If the millennials don’t get it, that’s not my problem.
It’s like Taylor says, “haters gonna hate.”