It was a simple plan. Foolproof. No one would ever find out. Best of all, it would look natural.

I drove to Mill Hall, where I wouldn’t be recognized. This part of my plan was paramount. To further shield my identity, an oversized sweatshirt, an old baseball cap, and sunglasses would be my disguise.

Run into the store, a quick grab, go, and hightail it home.

It was a foolproof plan — until I remembered the fool in question was me.

My downfall wasn’t being recognized, but the need to squat. I can’t polka, drive a stick, and certainly can’t squat. When I squat, I fall forward or tumble backward landing on my rump. This time, however, I tipped to the side and rolled onto my back. I lay sprawled out on the floor, smack-dab in the middle of the aisle in front of my destination — Just for Men hair color. Since this old age product was placed on the very bottom shelf, I tried to squat thus causing me to drop, flop, and roll. Belly Roll!

Common sense would suggest products for the AARP crowd such as hair color, denture paste, fuzzy socks, hernia braces, Bean-O, prune juice, dried prunes, canned prunes, Lawrence Welk cassette tapes, and anise gumdrops would be kept at eye level.

I hate getting older. First came that “cereal” sound I make. Yep. Snap, crackle, and pop when I bend my knees.

Next came wrinkles the size of gutters around my eyes.

Now, my favorite thus far, gray is the new red.

My once flaming red beard now resembles faded red shag carpeting dusted with flour. Great joy!

Getting older — it’s sad, it’s woeful; it’s like puberty on prune juice.

So, there I am, on my back, staring up at the security cameras overhead. (I didn’t know, Just for Men and Bean-O were hot items to pilfer.) I imagined dozens of workers standing around the security monitors howling with amusement tinged with pity. “Look at that poor sap, trying to look youthful. He’s like a prune trying to pass as a plum.”

To make matters worse, my belly — the jolly old thing — decided to make a surprise appearance by poking out from under my shirt. Trust me; it wasn’t a pretty thing to see. Some folks that saw said belly were scared — a few cried.

“Oh my gosh,” said a voice loud enough to be heard by any shopper within an 11 aisle radius. “Sir! Are you OK?” Not sure I heard the voice correctly, but it sounded like the voice was going to fetch a shopping cart like I was a jumbo size bag of cat litter or a futon mattress that fell on the floor.

Once upright and coherent, I attempted to make a quick exit until an older woman blocked my means of egress. When I say older, I mean older as in she probably dated Benjamin Franklin.

“Try this,” she pointed to a box of hair dye called something like “Wet Paper Bag Taupe”, “Cold Oatmeal Tan”, or “Unnatural Natural Looking Macho Man.”

“My husband uses this, and he looks so good. He always looks so life-like,” said Benny’s old flame.

Smiling at her, I backed away quickly and headed for the exit. What the heck did she mean he looks so life-like?

In the parking lot, I caught sight of a peculiar looking older man. His odd appearance came from the two petrified and highly shellacked squirrels on his head. As I walked closer, I realized it wasn’t squirrels on his head but hair — human hair — in a hue not found (thank goodness) in nature. Walking right alongside squirrel guy was the older lady from the store. This was her husband — the life-like looking lad.

This was life-like looking results? Hair that looked like it could double as a wooden roofing shingle? Oddly enough, this guy did look life-like. However, I’m not sure what kind of life he looked like.

Maybe having gray hair isn’t that bad — on second thought, it’s bad — very bad.