As the years whiz by, I’ve begun to understand some things about age. Mainly that it exists more in the perceptions of others than it does in oneself. I don’t feel “old” even though most people would define reaching ninety as definitely old. Most of the time I feel somewhere between sixteen and sixty, depending on a number of things including the weather, the news of the world, what’s in the mail, what I have scheduled for the next 24 to 48 hours or if I am trying to put my socks on.

I had a relative who told me that, when she was a child, everyone she knew who died had been sixty-five years old, so she expected to die at that age too. When she reached that predicted milestone, she was still in good health and likely to stay around for quite a few more years, but she had no plans for those bonus years and sat in front of her television set, living vicariously through talk shows and soap operas, waiting for her turn to come.

Others I have known try to hold time at arm’s length by disguising themselves to appear younger than they are. They seem to believe the Fates won’t know they are getting on in years if they dye their hair to cover all vestiges of gray, hide wrinkles and sagging chins with make-up and drape their stooping shoulders and flabby bellies under clothes designed for teenagers. Bunions and in-grown toenails are gladly suffered as the price of glamorous high heels and trendy boots instead of comfortable shoes meant for walking. When I consider the time, effort, and money some people spend on this deception, I also question their priorities and judgment. I suspect the cause springs from wishful thinking and outside forces taking advantage of that vulnerability. I doubt very much if any of us would pursue this ideal image on our own if it weren’t for the guy who wants our money. He tells us that this is the way we want to look and we let him convince us that we think so too.

A lot of this self-deception comes directly from the snake-oil salesmen – that race of one-time carnival pitchmen who have migrated to the more lucrative realm of TV commercials. Instead of touting the benefits of their Magic Elixir to a small crowd of passers-by at the county fair, this generation can tell thousands, even millions of viewers about their amazing discovery derived from some exotic fern, fish or fungus that will bring perfect health, instant beauty and unbelievable riches for the mere price of $29.99 a bottle. If you order today, they will send a second bottle absolutely free. Which means they will still make a profit at $15.00 a bottle for something you can buy at any health food store for $2.99. Do a little research before spending your money on those products that seem too good to be true. Find out what the active ingredients are, check with your doctor or pharmacist to learn if the product might be of benefit and if it is safe for you (it may affect prescribed medicines you are already taking.) And find out if there’s a cheaper equivalent locally available.

I also wonder how many people truly believe that using the right denture adhesive or having the latest cell phone will make your grandchildren love you more, or that wearing a designer’s signature on your hip pocket will revive a sagging romance. Do men really want to shave their heads in the shower and ream the hair from nostrils and ears? Does a dollop of sour cream actually make everything taste better? Everything? Advertisers must think we are all gullible, for they spend an awful lot of money on the premise that snake oil can bring happiness, success, love, power, security, and physical beauty.

One has to have arrived at the late stage in life to be honest with himself and laugh at the infirmities and their consequences. Aging is inevitable and unalterable, and pretending it isn’t only makes us appear ridiculous. Okay, so it takes longer to get dressed in the morning, and I sometimes fall asleep watching the news. I’m smarter than I used to be, even if I am slower. I know that gray hair, creaky knees and false teeth don’t lead to failure, lack of respect, loss of love, or discouragement with life in general. There are way too many good things to keep me going – without the snake oil.