I'm writing this vanity card at six o'clock in the morning on October 18, 2007. It's my birthday. I am fifty-five years old. I have long ago become invisible to young women. They actually do not see me. But I am not writing this to complain. I am at peace with my circumstances. The blessing of fifty-five is a libido in decline. The curse of it is that major pharmaceutical companies are successfully exploiting my insecurities. Suddenly that surreal commercial of a silver-haired guy sitting naked in an outdoor bath tub and holding hands with a naked, slightly younger woman in an adjacent bath tub makes perfect sense (if I had produced that spot I would have given him a small plasma screen TV so he could watch ESPN in his hang time). I'm also mesmerized by the commercial featuring middle-aged men gleefully celebrating their ability to drink water and drive long distances (I particularly enjoy that the slightly younger women in that one are turned on knowing that their geezers don't have to urinate frequently). Anyway, it's my birthday today. If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go suck on my bronchitis inhaler so that later today I can blow out the candles without hacking up a lung.

this is one of many exquisite vanity cards at the ends of The Big Bang Theory episodes. I picked up series (season) one the other day and I adore it. I also adore being able to pause and read said vanity cards.

There is a bruise in the middle of the back of my hand. Huh.