At middle age the human body begins to deteriorate like fried chicken left too long in the sun.

We can purchase shiny new teeth, get a hair transplant and tummy tuck, but it’s equivalent to pounding the dents out of a wrecked car, patching it with Bondo and spraying on paint. It’s only temporary.

Failing health often comes about slowly.

About a year ago, I noticed that when listening to others I leaned forward and cocked my head. Everyone mumbled. Why couldn’t they speak up and enunciate their words?

Finally, I admitted that I was going deaf. So be it. I just wouldn’t think about it. But, every time I opened a newspaper a hearing aid advertisement jumped out at me.

I remembered as a child having seen old folks hold a horn to their ear so they could hear. It was a depressing thought. What if I had to wear those weird glasses with a hearing aid inside huge black frames?

Finally, I got the nerve to visit a hearing specialist. I was ushered into an examination room and hanging on the wall was a shadow box displaying a collection of ancient hearing aids. Hypochondriacs shouldn’t have to witness such things.

A female audiologist came in. “What’s the problem?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the problem?”

“Everybody around me mumbles.” I said. She wasn’t amused and got down to business.

“Ever had an ear wax problem?”

“Oh yeah,” I said, remembering that Mama was a stickler for clean ears and clean underwear. I couldn’t go anywhere until she inspected my ears and reamed them out with her little finger stuck in a wet washcloth. If I squirmed and hollered she would threaten to run the wet cloth in one ear and pull it out the other one.

“Well, we better clean out your ears before doing the test,” said the audiologist.

I lay back on the examination table and waited. Pretty soon the doctor came in, jabbering up a storm. He began digging out wax and placing it on a paper napkin held by the audiologist.