Stop Me If You’ve Heard This Before

I’ve noticed, in my old-ish age, that I have developed a habit of starting almost every story with, “Stop me if you’ve heard this before…”

I consider it a public service and a small act of kindness that gives whoever is listening to my drivel an escape route. It also keeps people from losing interest in my stories and ensures I’ll remain a welcome guest in their lives, rather than a repetitive bore that everyone tries to avoid.

I’m also trying not to talk about my various bodily ailments (much) unless someone specifically asks or if it’s relevant to the conversation. Like when a friend says How is your knee feeling? I don’t sugarcoat it and answer truthfully:  Still consistent with the stabbing pain and bone-on-bone grinding.

Mostly, I try to keep the daily catalog of aches and pains to myself. Not because they’ve gone away. Far from it. I really don’t think anyone truly wants a front-row seat to the slow-motion decay of my body—not even my fellow travelers on this rickety road.

That said, there is a quiet, unspoken rule at this age: once you mention an ailment, even in passing, you’ve opened the gates. And now, everyone gets their turn. The moment your mouth stops moving, someone else’s starts. They’ve got a foot thing. Or a hip. Or a weird nerve pain that no one can explain, but gets worse with weather changes and climbing stairs. It's like a rotating open mic night, but for the human body’s warranty failures.

And honestly, there’s comfort in that. It’s like a communal confession booth where everyone’s stories begin with, “I probably told you this already…” and end with a knowing laugh or a sympathetic wince. 

We’re all limping forward together, careful not to overstay our welcome, but quietly grateful there’s still someone around to listen.