OT - Humor... or not...

A Man's Age, As Determined By A Trip To The Home Depot

You are in the middle of a few projects at your home: putting in a new
fence, painting the basement walls, putting in a new garden. You are hot and
sweaty, covered in dust, lawn clippings, dirt and paint. You have your old
work clothes on. You know the outfit -- shorts with the hole in the crotch,
old T-shirt with a stain from who-knows-what, and an old pair of tennis
shoes.

Right in the middle of these projects you realize you need to run to Home
Depot for supplies. Depending on your age you might do the following:

In your 20s: Stop what you are doing. Shave, take a shower, blow dry your
hair, brush your teeth, floss and put on clean clothes. Check yourself in
the mirror and flex. Add a dab of your favorite cologne because, you never
know, you just might meet some hot chick while standing in the checkout
line.
And yes, you went to school with the pretty girl running the register.

In your 30s: Stop what you are doing, put on clean shorts and shirt. Change
your shoes. You married the hot chick so no need for much else. Wash your
hands and comb your hair. Check yourself in the mirror. Still got it. Add a
shot of your favorite cologne to cover the smell. The cute girl running the
register is the kid sister to someone you went to school with.

In your 40s: Stop what you are doing. Put on a sweatshirt that is long
enough to cover the hole in the crotch of your shorts. Put on different
shoes and a hat. Wash your hands. Your bottle of Brute is almost empty, so
don't waste any of it on a trip to Home Depot. Check yourself in the mirror
and do more sucking in than flexing. The hot young thing running the
register is your daughter's age and you feel weird about thinking she's
spicy.

In your 50s: Stop what you are doing. Put on a hat. Wipe the dirt off your
hands onto your shirt. Change shoes because you don't want to get dog crap
in your new sports car. Check yourself in the mirror and swear not to wear
that shirt anymore because it makes you look fat. The cutie running the
register smiles when she sees you coming and you think you still have it.
Then you remember -- the hat you have on is from Bubba's Bait & Beer Bar and
it says, 'I Got Worms'

In your 60s: Stop what you are doing. No need for a hat any more. Hose the
dog crap off your shoes. The mirror was shattered when you were in your 50s.
You hope you
have underwear on so nothing hangs out the hole in your pants.
The girl running the register may be cute but you don't have your glasses
on, so you're not sure.

In your 70s: Stop what you are doing. Wait to go to Home Depot until the
drug store has your prescriptions ready too. Don't even notice the dog crap
on your shoes. The young thing at the register stares at you and you realize
your balls are hanging out the hole in your crotch.

In your 80s: Stop what you are doing. Start again. Then stop again. Now
you remember you need to go to Home Depot. Go to Wal-Mart instead. You went
to school with the old lady greeter. You wander around trying to remember
what you are looking for. Then you fart out loud and think someone called
your name.

In your 90s & beyond: What's a home deep hoe? Something for my garden?
Where am I? Who am I? Why am I reading this? Did I send it? Did you? Who
farted?

--

-Mike-
[email protected]