I had a guy who used to work for me whose parents realized their dreams and retired to The Villages. I took him out to lunch one day, shortly after he spent a week with his parents down there. He had a sort of far-away look in his eyes and I asked him what was up.
He then proceeded to regale me with a couple of stories that left me doubled over in the restaurant, tears streaming down my cheeks. The first involved his parents' neighbor, whose wife had passed away a couple weeks (yes, weeks) earlier. This guy (my employee ballparked the age at mid-70s) apparently put his wife in the ground and then started sport-humping his way through The Villages, along the dozen days or so collecting several various STD/V's. Over drinks one night, he apparently shared his urination woes with my guy's father, who immediately referred him to the local clinic for the appropriate dosages.
Second story involved a softball game. Apparently, it is just like grade school, only 70 years removed as the boys play their hearts out in order to impress the women girls in the stands. The game became heated and around the 4th inning, culminated in an old-timer trying to break up a double play. However, his slide into 2nd base was less than technically proficient and the only thing he broke was his left hip. Game was halted and an ambulance came on to the field to pick up the baserunner.
So by this point, I'm doubled over, sharp pains ripping through my stomach, tears flowing and he still has a modified thousand mile stare working. So when I can finally speak, I said "Mark? Are you ok? That is the funniest thing I've heard in a long time." To which he replied, "I'm a little depressed, to be honest. The guy who broke his hip? My dad. I dunno... If that's The Greatest Generation, we're in for some serious ****."
And with that observation, a mouth full of ginger ale found it's mark on the front of my shirt and lap.
