Want more Jeff Edelstein? Head over to jeffedelstein.substack.com I just bought my first “for seniors” product. It hasn’t arrived yet. Part of me hopes it never does. Part of me hopes the Amazon delivery truck veers off the road, tumbles into a lake, and my package sinks to the bottom. (I hope the driver is OK, though.) The product? Toenail clippers. For thick toenails. Specifically marketed. For seniors. I’m 54 years old and I just bought old-people toenail clippers. Let me back up. My toenails are thick. Ridiculously thick. Industrial-grade thick. I don’t know when it happened. Gradual at first. Then, suddenly, one day I’m trying to trim them and it feels like I’m attempting to cut a bike lock with safety scissors. Apparently, this is a “getting older” thing. Which is wonderful news to discover at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday while searching “why are my toenails turning into weapons.” So I went on Amazon to buy new clippers because I couldn’t find my regular ones — which, let’s be honest, probably would have shattered on impact anyway. I typed in “toenail clippers” and started scrolling. And there they were: Heavy-duty. Long handles. Extra leverage. Clearly designed by a team of engineers who hate metal but love old people. And in the description, clear as day: “Ideal for seniors.” I stared at the screen for a full minute. Seniors. Me. Seniors. But my toenails weren’t getting any thinner, so I clicked “Add to Cart.” What choice did I have? I’m basically growing roofing shingles out of my toes at this point. Regular clippers aren’t cutting it anymore, pun very much intended. I told my wife. She cackled. Actually cackled. Like a Disney villain watching a kingdom fall. “You’re buying old-people toenail clippers?” she said, still laughing. “They’re not old-people clippers,” I said. “They’re heavy-duty.” “For seniors,” she said. “For anyone with thick toenails,” I said. She didn’t even bother responding. Just a final, quiet: “Seniors.” And here’s the thing: this isn’t even the first sign. Just the most humiliating. My back hurts all the time. For no reason. I’ll be standing there doing absolutely nothing and my back will tap me on the shoulder like, “Hey buddy, remember fun? Yeah, that’s over now.” Then I’m walking around like a sentient question mark for three days. I make noises when I stand up. Involuntary noises. Grunts, groans, sighs, and occasionally a clicking sound from somewhere deep in the knee/hip region, like a loose Lego inside my skeleton. And small print? Forget it. I can’t read menus without my glasses (they are progressive lenses, naturally). But the toenail clippers… That’s a new low. Because you can hide everything else. You can pretend your back doesn’t hurt. You can disguise the standing-up noises as enthusiasm. You can squint at small print and pretend you’re thinking deeply about calorie content. But when a package shows up labeled “HEAVY-DUTY TOENAIL CLIPPERS FOR SENIORS,” there’s no hiding that. That’s evidence. That’s paperwork. That’s the universe signing for the package and whispering, “Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.” And I hate it. I don’t feel old. I mean, I do feel old — my back, my eyes, the concrete growing out of my toes — but in my head? I’m 25. Maybe 30. Definitely not 54. Fifty-four is “for seniors” territory. Fifty-four buys ergonomic nail shears designed for people who also own pill organizers. The package arrives any moment now. I’ll probably open it in private so my wife doesn’t reenact her cackle. I’ll take out the clippers — the heavy-duty, long-handled tools for the elderly — and I will clip my toenails. And they will work. Because they were built for people like me. And I’ll feel two things at once: Relief — because finally, FINALLY, I have the proper equipment for the battle. And resignation, because this is who I am now. This is 54. Thick toenails. Back pain. Weird noises. Products specifically marketed to people who remember rotary phones. I’m not OK with it. But I’m also not not OK with it. I’m just… here. Aging. Softly. Stubbornly. Buying things I never imagined I’d need. And hoping the next “for seniors” purchase holds off for at least another year. Sorry for making you think about my toenails all day. It’s a shared experience now. I do feel better. ...read more read less