There actually are some perks of your balls hanging lower each year.
You’re less likely to witness hijinks. If you’re walking down the street and some kids are about to TP a house or egg someone’s car, and they see you coming—they’ll wait until you’ve passed before they let the tom-foolery begin. This is because the older you get the more you look like a responsible citizen, or an a-hole who might narc on a bunch of kids enacting revenge on a grumpy chemistry teacher or a lunchroom whore. That’s got to be neat, eh? No interruptions or surprises in your day, no sir.
More people start to ask you for directions. The older you get, the more people think you must know more than them, including the lay of the land of a particular neighborhood. This is not to be confused with “wisdom.” If you’re driving around and you see some old square shuffling about, you figure the old fella with the piss stains on his pants (you) ought to know what is what. So that must do something for your self-esteem—more strangers will talk to you!
You’re less capable of tolerating a wide variety of foods. Yep! Remember those days as a kid your parents would take you to the old diner and you’d stare at the menu in wonder, wondering what the hell you would order, unable to decide between all the choices. Now, the older you get the more you wonder about how much sodium is in the chicken noodle soup, because you’d like to order the chicken noodle soup, but you don’t want to be retaining water for the rest of the evening, only to have to piss it out by getting up multiple times in the middle of the night. A salad sounds good as does the chili, but you know that either of those foods are going to tango in your bowels for hours, forcing you to sit on the face of the porcelain goddess for as long as your gastrointestinal system proclaims. So it’s rice and steamed chicken for you! No sauce.
You’re no longer frustrated by the amount of sex you’re not getting. Remember when your friends would ask you how often you and the old lady would do it and you’d say two or three times a week, and realize that your libido was barely scraping by on that meager rationing? Well, the good news is, you don’t feel that way anymore. Sex to you is like a rickety wooden, turn-of-the-century roller coaster that you don’t care to take a ride on. Why? Because it just doesn’t seem worth it. You could get on and heck, it could all fall apart, leaving you in the lurch in some awkward position—unable to get off. Or, even if it does go “smoothly” you know that it’s not going to be much to write home about. You know that you’re better off with a rerun of Dallas and some warm Pepsi.