The Geezer in the Gazebo

My Husby loves the movie, “The Sound of Music”.

In fact, if favourites were discussed, that title would probably be the first to come up.

Most particularly, he loves the gazebo scene.

And its accompanying song, “Sixteen Going on Seventeen”.

Really loves it.

To the point that, if ever a gazebo is sighted, he has to run inside and sing.

Badly.

Really badly.

Badly on purpose.

Just to embarrass his kids.

He's very, very good at it.

Inevitably, after he has run joyfully to the gazebo and danced around inside for a few minutes, singing at the top of his lungs, his children have disappeared.

Totally.

Completely.

You thought children could disappear quickly in a shopping mall?

That doesn't even come close to how quickly they can vanish when their father-figure is embarrassing them.

Suddenly they have, quite literally, ceased to exist.

And they only reappear some time later.

When anyone – anyone – who might have witnessed their father's performance has defected and/or suffered an aneurysm.

As my Husby has aged, the suitability of the words of the famous song have . . . lessened.

With his usual creativity, he has managed to 'age' the words to suit.

Both parts.

Because you never know when some old lady will want to sing along . . .

[him]

You wait, old girl, on an empty stage

For fate to turn the light off

Your life, old girl, is a filled up page

About which you should not scoff.

Should not scoff.

You are sixty, going on seventy

Baby it's time to think

Better beware, be canny and careful

It's hard to be old, I think.

You are sixty, going on seventy

Old goats will get in line;

Eager old cads and nimble old dads

Will be wanting all of your time.

Totally unprepared are you

To face the world of time.

Timid and shy and scared are you

Of geritol and lime.

You need someone older and wiser

Telling you what to do!

I am seventy going on eighty -

I'll take care of you.

[her]

I am sixty going on seventy

I know that I'm naive

Old goats I meet may tell me I'm sweet

And willingly I believe.

I am sixty going on seventy

Beautiful as a rose

Widower dandies, wheelchair bandies

What do I want with those?

Totally unprepared am I

To take a man again.

Timid and shy and scared am I

Of geezers who call themselves men!

I need someone older and wiser

Telling me what to do.

You are seventy going on eighty,

I'll depend on you!

*  *  *

A word?

If you're walking with us out in public and a gazebo appears in the distance?

Distance yourself.