Life After 60

“I see that this is a rather large footprint,” the man said examining it minutely with a telescope. “Do you use that sort of thing to make your deductions?” I enquired surprised. “I base all my deductions, subtractions and multiplication with it,” he replied. “Why not use a magnifying glass?” I asked. “I use it when I’m thinking aloud,” he said. “But there can’t be a footprint in that pressure cooker,” I protested. “Now that you say it, you might be right,” he chuckled, “Elementary my dear Watson . I was only testing your powers of deduction.” “Now deduce what is wrong with the pressure cooke r,” I said sharply, “There’s no need to test my powers.” “The cooke r seems to be all right, but the pressure seems to be the problem,” the man said after examining it for a while. “Is that so?” I asked. “High pressure is bad and low pressure is worse,” He said sadly, “I don’t know what other things might be wrong. “Are you a doctor?” I asked taken aback

“I have gum boil,” I told the quack who had a chamber in the neighbourhood. “You should never boil gums, it causes the enamel to evaporate,” he said disapprovingly. “I did not use boiling water, but boiled water,” I said wincing in agony. “That’s what I said in the first place,” he said, eyeing me up and down, “And you have trimmed your nails I see, that causes night blindness.” I nodded glumly. “It won’t happen the next time.” The fraud rummaged among his instruments that he kept in a pail in the corner of his dispensary and pulled out a pair of fearsome looking tongs. “Stick out your tongue.” I did as directed and he pulled it out with the tongs and inspected it minutely. “It looks like you have a hernia.” “Is it bad?” I asked anxiously. “It’s certainly bad since you trim your nails, you should only bite them after dinner it hel ps digestion,” he said. I gurgled a bit. “How many fingers do you see?” he asked as he let go of my tongue and show

“Don’t I have a perfect figure?” my girlfriend asked me admiring herself in the mirror. “How much do you weigh?” I asked hesitantly. “You have to figure that out,” she said demurely. “Your figure must be flat,” I hazarded. “That’s when I’m at my flat,” she replied coyly, “Otherwise it is 34-18-36.” “That’s odd,” I remarked, “Are you a figure of eight?” “That depends on whether I’m playing the French horn or the saxophone,” she replied. “You must be ambidextrous then?” I asked. “That’s when I am playing sleight of hand with a deck of cards,” she replied. “And does the boy still stand on the burning deck?” I enquired anxiously. “No, he joined the fire brigade long ago,” my girlfriend replied. “You must be missing him?” I asked. “Like loose change,” she sighed. “You should file a missing person report,” I suggested. “Not much use when he is busy changing a lot of Ms to Mrs,” she replied. “Has he become a priest?” I asked surpri

There was a knock on my door. “Oh hello,” said a salesman stan ding outside the door. “What can I do for you?” I questioned. “I have brought you a pram, Sir,” he began enthusiastically. “A bicycle knocked down my false teeth the other day,” I said disgustedly, “and you want me to buy a pram!” “You will be safer travelling in a pram,” the salesman said soothingly. “How do I know that a reckless pram driver will not try to overtake me at the traffic lights?” “Just look at this way, people of your age are prone to mislay their false teeth and when you are down on all fours trying to find them the traffic light turns red,” he said. “How does a pram hel p?” I asked baffled, “ Will it stop the police from giving me a ticket?” “Traffic policemen nev er bo ok prams, even if you are speeding to locate your lost teeth,” he explained. “But how will I fit into a pram?” I asked turning my attention to it. “They are made especially for the senile, dim-w