Laganthorp’s law: Playing the old age card

you’re what, nudging eighty? You’re in that 74 to 79 sweep of the dial where the needle reflects your physical condition, never holds steady, always seems to be slipping and moving inexorably into the colour band that indicates you’re borderline never-to-be-like-you-were

But you’re fit as a fiddle, you remonstrate; you take out the garbage with one hand; you can still pound that range ball 210 yards with the wind downhill; still suck in the gut when those young things catch your eye, but you know the day is coming: “I know I can still do that, and I will, but I think I’ll just let it ride for now. Wake me when it’s happy hour.”

The downside to this approach is you’re vulnerable to zingers:

“If you won’t get out of that chair, I’m ordering one with the electric butt lift. And I’ll hide the remote.”

“Your heart’s fine, nobody has ever died doing the dishes.”

“I’m not asking you to go to the gym; just walk to the front porch, bend down and pick up the paper.”

What you want the world to admire is your determination, your moxie, your joie-de-vivre without you actually having to demonstrate your determination, your moxie, your joie-de-vivre.

So what’s an example of showing your real age that you don’t want anyone to witness? How ‘bout, ‘Getting in an out of the car?’

In the young days, you opened the door and put your leg in first, remember? Never needed the steering wheel as a crutch; just left hand on the door sill, settle into your seat and close the door all in one smooth motion.  

Now you improvise. You open the door and typically turn your back to the seat, brace one hand on the steering wheel and with the other, grab the ‘B’ pillar, then let mother gravity take over. Then you have to swing both legs into the car and now you’re faced with closing a door that you can’t reach.

Getting out isn’t a prettier picture. You push open the door and hope it stays open, if it doesn’t, you’re close to losing an arm and a leg. You now take a minute or two getting the rhythm right so the swinging door catches the door stop and stays open; then you swing both legs out the door. Your legs haven’t touched the ground yet so with your left hand grabbing the ‘B’ pillar and your right hand searching for the ‘A’ pillar, on ‘3’ you bounce off the seat to get a bit of levity and then pull yourself forward hoping your feet hit the ground at an angle where they can provide the other 90% of momentum you need to balance yourself upright. You are now facing away from the car, in no position to close the door. You look around to see if anyone has been marvelling at this exercise in embarrassment and then shuffle 180 degrees to face the gaping doorway which lets you observe your cell phone in the centre console pocket.

So, how do you solve this predicament of looking and acting like an old codger before you want to look and act like an old codger?

Laganthorp’s Law¹ When things aren’t going your way, there might be a solution to the rescue. Laganthorp’s Law is a proven mantra that you turn to when all seems hopeless. This anti-age alliteration triggers a chain reaction of old memories that smoothed over challenging situations in the past which you can now draw on to smooth over challenging situations in the present. Remember the times you were gob smacked when witnessing that perfectly timed ‘bon mot’ which saved the situation and prompted you to remark, “Wish I’d thought of that.”? Laganthorp’s Law brings it all back. Laganthorp’s Law googles that vast reservoir of experiences to find the one that triggers your brain to force you to open your mouth and say, “Dear, I’ll get the car and meet you at the front.”

Can’t help but draw the admiring response, “Thank you, what a nice thought.”

But wait, slow down the smirk, the devil in you points out, with evil intent, once you pull up to the front door, “Shouldn’t a man of refinement, like yourself, get out and open the door for one’s spouse?”

Indeed, again you call on Laganthorp’s Law which kicks in and prepares you to welcome the idea of unlocking the passenger door and leaving it a bit ajar before you tackle your own entry. And that snow scraper still in the back seat in July? Just the ticket to push open the passenger door from your seat. The clincher? Before executing this legerdemain, offer to get out of the car and open the door for her. Studies² Soon to be published high school essay have shown that no woman, 0% have ever said, “Sure, I’ll wait.”

Now the savvy, gentler sex sceptic might argue that you’ve rounded down that 0.004 percent to get to 0.00% so somebody in the survey might have actually said, “Sure, I’ll wait,” so you have to be prepared for this.

Once again Laganthorp’s Law saves the day. At your age, leg cramps are as common as the cold. Once she says, “Sure, I’ll wait,” Laganthorp’s Law has your brain tell you to grab your leg, let out a stifled, ‘cramps’ and go into your realistic-cause-you’ve-experienced-it-so-often-in-real-life-it’s-easy-to-imitate spasm and start to leave the car. The difficulty you have actually trying to leave the car looks like severe cramping so she’ll either have to say, “Oh, that’s OK, don’t bother, I know how you feel, I get them all the time,” and open the door herself or wait the four and a half minutes it takes you to get out of the car and shuffle to her side of the car and open her door. This also covers your awkward re-entry into the car. Once behind the wheel, rub your leg for a minute and give her that pained grin with a pseudo-smiley, “Good to go.”

Assuming she’s among the 99.99% who doesn’t say, “Sure, I’ll wait,” and hence hasn’t seen you struggle to get out of the car, to avoid the challenge of showing your age when you hit the mall, drop her off at the entrance to the store and draw on the blessed Laganthorp’s Law face-saving line, “Go ahead, I’ll just park the car, catch up with you later.”

If you’re feeling chuffed, offer to get out and open the door for her. If she says, ‘I’d like that,” or some other insincere test, call on your Laganthorp’s Law cramp routine. (see above)

Oft heard reward of all this? ‘He’s such a gentleman.”

Next week: putting on your socks.