10 More Signs That You Are Getting Incredibly Ancient and Haggard

Another questionable treasure from the archives…

1. The name game.

  You’re standing there with people you have known all your life, talking about other people you have known all your life, and suddenly you can’t remember the name of your first cousin that you have known all your life. It just won’t come to you. You can picture the face, you can recall everything you’ve ever done together, even the time when the two of you ran naked through the backyard because you were bored and there wasn’t anything on TV, but the damn name just won’t pop into your head. It’s as if your brain is so full that random bits of knowledge have dribbled out your ears, creating a stain that compliments the other stain on your shirt caused by your earlier, penalty-ridden attempt to eat gazpacho without creating a mess.

  Twenty minutes later, when anyone who remotely cares what you might have to say has wandered off, the name will finally drift in out of the fog, even though it’s far too late for redemption at that point. But you can’t help yelling out “Bobby Joe!” with a mixture of relief and frustration, despite the fact that no one heard at all (not even the chair). Well, no one except those annoying child relatives (what are their names, again?) who race off to alert parental authorities, fully convinced that maybe it’s time someone handed you a brochure about the benefits of living in a secure retirement facility where there are established boundaries.

Urchin #1: “Mommy, Uncle Brian is talking to nobody again.”

Uber-Christian Mommy #4: “Maybe he’s talking to Jesus.”

Urchin #1: “Yeah, well, he’s probably gonna have to leave a voice mail.”

2. The popcorn thing.

  So, you’re innocently sitting on the couch in the den, and all you intend to do is zip into the kitchen real quick for a nice snack of something that won’t make you have to pee in 5 minutes. You hoist yourself up, and suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of microwave popcorn just before the ding, with tiny explosions filling the air and echoing off the walls. All of that mess came out of you and your apparently no-longer-lubricated joints. To further the shame and degradation, the nameless urchin children will run up to you holding out empty bowls and a saltshaker, their eyes ablaze with greed and a slight tinge of fear that they are approaching That Crazy Muttering Man.

Urchin #7: “We couldn’t find any butter. Do you have the butter?”

Me: “If I had the right butter, I wouldn’t be popping.”

3. The “adult acne” thing.

  What is this crap all about? I suffered enough on the first go-around, when some of my teen years were spent walking around like a textbook example of how one shouldn’t look if they ever expected to have quickie sex under the bleachers at a high-school football game. It was a wretched and miserable experience, made even worse by those annoying teens who never had a speck of a blemish, ever. This insufferable outrage was followed by a few soothing decades where I didn’t have to worry about such things and had sex with complete abandon whenever and wherever I wanted. Good times.

  But now it’s back. There’s enough grease on my face lately to fry hush puppies. Really not impressed. (And this go around, the blemishes are more resistant to therapy, laughing at the cleansers and masks with wicked abandon.) Why do we have to go through these midlife hormonal changes? WHY? Haven’t we paid enough taxes to be exempt from this? There is clearly something wrong with the structure of modern society if I need vats of industrial-strength Clearasil when I’m already retired.

The Bathroom Mirror: “Honey, you need to do something about that mess or somebody is going to stick a drilling rig in your head. These Texans don’t play when they smell oil.”

Me: “I like you better when you’re steamed-up from the shower.”

The Bathroom Shower: “Don’t hate me because you’re not beautiful.”

4. The dripping faucet.

  I just went to the bathroom. Why do I have to go to the bathroom again? I didn’t even make it down the hallway, let alone have the time to ingest any liquids that would justify a second round. And those reticent leaks that occur well after the deed was supposedly done? This is the only reason that I don underwear in public, just so I have some degree of control over sudden-spottage when I blithely waltz my way back from the restroom at Ojeda’s during Happy Hour.

My Underwear: “Where are we? The Amazon Rainforest? All I want is to be dry again.”

Me: “I hear ya, sister.”

The Waiter at Ojeda’s: “Um, do you need more napkins? Or perhaps a blow dryer? I think we have one in the kitchen. Be right back.”

5. All those pills.

  Okay, so we go through our 20’s and 30’s and some of our 40’s never needing a prescription for anything, except an occasional bout of bronchitis or possibly a conjugal visit that should never have happened (and probably wouldn’t have if the drinks hadn’t been so cheap that fateful afternoon at the restaurant). Then we hit a point where we need a pill for everything. Cholesterol, blood pressure, anxiety, hoof-and-mouth disease, you name it. I might as well rent a cot in the pharmacy at Walgreens and let trained technicians walk by every hour and cram tablets in my mouth. It would certainly save time and effort.

The Pharmacist: “Have you heard about our bulk-rate plan? For every two thousand pills, you get a free bottle of mouthwash.”

Me: “Don’t you have something more important to do than torment me?”

The Pharmacist: “Oh, I do. But this is more fun. How do the axles not break on your car when you load up all this crap in your trunk?”

6. The impatience thing.

  I used to be really sweet. All the time, with everybody. Not anymore. People annoy me. I don’t want to deal with them or their inability to function as decent human beings. There have been SO many times when I wanted to leap over the check-out counter and throttle that gum-smacking, obnoxious little twit with the attitude and the disdain for doing their damn job. But I don’t leap. Well, usually not. I take a pill for that now.

My Therapist: “I understand there was an unsavory incident at WalMart?”

Me: “Isn’t there always?”

7. The lack of caring about your couture.

  There was a time when my daily outfits and personal grooming were of utmost concern. If things were a bit off and didn’t properly accent my dwindling best features, I wouldn’t leave the house. Now? Screw it. As long as I’ve showered and my loins are covered, we’re good to go. There’s nothing wrong with t-shirts that are not particularly flattering (Yes, I have man-boobs. Deal.), faded jeans that have seen better days (like 1987), and a hairstyle that can only be described as “well, at least it appears to be clean”. I’ve managed to live long enough that I just want to be comfortable, not win any awards.

Threadbare T-Shirt in My Closet: “Please don’t reach for me again. Haven’t I suffered enough?”

Me: “Don’t whine. At least I can still wear you, unlike many of your little friends on the shelf who haven’t been touched since the War of 1812.”

8. The fading eyesight thing.

  Back in the day, I could spot the school bus three miles away and have plenty of time to slip into my designer jeans, feather my hair to perfection, and organize my notes from the previous evening’s episode of “Charlie’s Angels” for the inevitable discussion in the lunchroom. Today, I have to ask the Ojeda’s waiter to take the menu in the other room and hold it just right so I can read it and find an entrée that will cause the least digestive issues. Sometimes the waiter doesn’t come back from that other room. No tip for him. Wait, I do have one: Just wait. It’ll happen to you some day. Now get your ass back here and take my order.

Roadway Sign That Is Probably Saying Something Important: “xtsfljglkwr,lg”

Me: “Hmm. Maybe I should just get off this highway and never get on it again.”

My Car: “We’re still in your driveway, dude.”

9. The sleep thing.

  If I can make it through three hours of uninterrupted sleep, I’m happy. Five hours and I am truly blessed. But many nights I just take catnaps between gurglings, odd night sweats, unusual pain in body parts that are hurting for no apparent reason, crazed dreams wherein I am doing things that make no sense unless peyote is involved, and mind-numbing flatulence. Eventually, I’m just wide awake and I lay there, listening to the further decay of my body and waiting for Ingmar Bergman to direct a black-and-white movie about my physical and mental decline, starring Catherine Deneuve and a lot of stark imagery.

Director Ingmar: “I’m not getting enough realism with your flatulence!”

Actress Catherine: “And I’m not getting enough inspiration from the writer!”

Writer Brian: “Really? Hang on while I gut-suck a few of those jalapeno poppers from Ojeda’s, then we’ll talk.”

The Waiter at Ojeda’s: “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any poppers ready at the moment. The kitchen is in an uproar after the hair dryer went missing.”

10. The lack of energy thing.

  I realize that there are many important things I should be doing to keep my life in order and Code Enforcement off my ass for the appearance of my property. There are many charitable causes that would welcome my volunteerism with open arms and possible discount coupons at a local movie theater. And the whole political thing. I should be out there fighting for decency and some type of legislation that would prevent reprehensible elected officials from passing laws that harm the members of society they refuse to understand, just because they can. We still have such a long road, folks.

  And to be fair, I am out there, trying. Usually. But there are some days when I just want to put on my jammie pants, grab the TV remote, start flipping through channels and suddenly…

  It’s the next morning. Time for me to take some more pills. And thank the customers walking past my cot for shopping at Walgreens…

Previously published. Updated with extra flair and vibrant decay for this post. And yes, I realize that I have already whined about many of these things previously. I also realize that I am making myself sound older than I really am. Let’s just say that I’m making some practice runs, getting this out of my system now before I find myself in that secure retirement facility, unable to remember the name of my favorite word-processing software or the password I need to access it. (“Wait, it’s Bobbie Joe!”)


64 replies »

  1. My issue is with our defective bathroom mirror. See, I think my reflection looks the same as it always did. But apparently others take one look at me and leap up to insist I take their seats on trains and buses, or to help me put my groceries into the car, or to give me discounts on travel/lodging/hotels/events/restaurants, or… Um… Actually, good job mirror!

    Liked by 3 people

    • I have one of those defective mirrors as well! After confirmation in such, I leave the house full of spark and self-confidence. Once out and about, I get a gander of myself in the restroom mirror at a restaurant or bar and I think “No wonder the room went silent when I opened the door. I thought I had made a grand entrance, but apparently I had caused them to ponder and reflect on their own mortalities”.

      Liked by 1 person

    • #7 I can live with, as I no longer spend the eye-opening amount of money I used to spend on my couture. But yes, #8 is not making me happy at all. I spent the first half-century of my life with crystal-clear vision, so this sudden descent into Mr. Magoo territory has left emotional scars… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Another great list of painfully increasing descents into infirmity. Well, it’s laugh or cry. Number 5- that’s a sore point. I’ve only recently reluctantly joined the Regular Walgreens Club after being medication free all my wasted life. To clarify, legally drug free. Given a choice of giving up my regular dosings of medicinal gin in order to avoid gout, or taking Allopurinol on board? So, it’s gin for the win. But let’s address your top ten; 1/ Who you talking ’bout, Wizzy? 2/Snap! cartilage popped. 3/ Sliding down later life’s slippery slope. 4/ See number One, above. Literally. See? Number Ones. 5/ Drugs, not Adult Huggies- hey, see Number Four! 6/ Wait!? Who’s got time to wait!! !7/ If the crap still fits, wear it. 8/ Who’s that I’m talking to, Wizzy? 9/ Sleep? I only dream about sleep. 10/ Sure, I’ll get straight onto… Meh. Mebbe tomorrow.
    ‘Don’t hate me because you’re not beautiful?’ wordplayed.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well, sir, I believe you just won some type of award (I have my staff working on the actual title) for responding to all 10 prompts in a thrillingly terse but precisely-aligned manner. I’ll let you know when to expect your prize in the mail. I don’t want to spoil anything, but it’s probably a toaster oven, as we seem to have a lot of them around here.

      I’m in the same pharmaceutical boat as you, with the same wink at your “legal” clarification. Other than my anxiety meds, I never needed anything else for most of my life sojourn. It’s only been relatively recently that my medicine cabinet expanded from one prescription bottle to an astounding array of containers that has caused stress fractures in the foundation of Bonnywood. Don’t hate me because I’m medicated… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Getting old is not for the faint hearted. I was a perfectly healthy, active and thin-ish 40 year old. Now, in my 50’s…. I’m a creaking, sluggish, cranky, Weeble who has reading glasses strategically placed every 15 feet. How did that happen?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you for making me feel really special about what the future holds for me, assuming I can get there without choking on this horse pill I take to keep my bone cartilage healthy. (Why are those pills so big? Why?)… 😉


      • Seriously I do not know why others do not seem to have problems swallowing big pills! I have had that problem all my life. I usually cut them up which probably affects their time release effectiveness.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I can definitely relate, especially to number one. But it’s not just names of people, it’s names of objects too.
    Me: where’s that thingy I just had here that I was going to use while calling what’s-her-name?
    My assistant: which thingy do you mean? The one you were looking for yesterday?
    Me: Ack! Where are my glasses? If I don’t need glasses, there they are, everywhere, on every surface. But when I need glasses, they’re never to be found!
    My assistant: you always need glasses. There’s no such thing as not needing glasses.
    Other assistant commiserating with my assistant: that job over at the nursing home is still available. You’ve definitely got experience.
    My assistant: Very tempting …

    Liked by 1 person

    • Brilliant comment, with the bell-ringing prize being “There’s no such thing as not needing glasses”. Perfect.

      And yes, it’s no longer just names with me. I’ll be happily composing one of my stories, creating zany character names and whimsical developments, and then I’ll got stuck for hours on a transition paragraph because I can’t remember the word that means “warm-heartedness concerning a digital friend who always makes one smile”. Oh wait, it just came to me: gratitude. Thanks, Lynette. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

    • Wise career path. When in doubt, deny. (“I don’t recall the details of that event,” said the Senator on trial for past indiscretions that were clearly captured on temporarily-forgotten security cameras. The members of the jury smirked, knowing full well that “I don’t recall” means “I’m guilty as hell but you’re gonna have to prove it”…)

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Having to do something urgently, and upon standing blanking completely on what it was. Sitting down and knowing what it is and that it is super urgent, forgetting again why you stood up. The third time you announce it to the room, hoping someone will answer “why did I stand up? What was I doing?” Or at least make it stay in your brain. You call it out and stand up and poof! It’s gone again. Sitting down again you realize without a doubt that you have to pee – YESTERDAY! But by the time you get out of the chair for the hundredth time. You’re kinda glad that you have those undies on and that you own a blow drier.

    Liked by 1 person

    • This is great! And I’ve been there so many times recently when I head to another room in the house, fully invested in doing something of importance, but when I get there, I have no idea why I’m in that room. It’s gotten so bad that, once I struggle out of my chair, intent on a mission, I’ll turn to Partner (even if he’s not there, which is an entirely different bit of mental deterioration) and say, for example, “I’m going to go pay the car insurance premium. If you find me wandering in the hallway, get me back on track.” To which Partner replies: “You still drive a car?”

      Kudos on working in the hair dryer reference… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

      • Thank you.

        I have turned to my parter that isn’t there. I have turned to people that weren’t listening, I have asked my pets, I have asked completely empty rooms. I have gotten so bad that I stand up and I have a clear and obvious hint why I stood up, and still nothing. Just this morning i stood up holding my coffee mug which was empty. That is a clear and obvious hint as to what I was thinking about doing. Instead I made it all the way to the kitchen before I stopped dead and asked the empty room what I was doing. I stood there baffled, looking around for some hint as to why this was my goal ans nothing came to me. I was halfway back to my chair when I tried to take a sip from my coffee and suddenly that “aha” moment it and I got my coffee. And no, this wasn’t even my first cup.

        Sometimes I wonder why I’m permitted to operate heavy machinery. It’s one thing to think “I have to stop by the pharmacy on the way home” and then forget that pharmacies even exist. But going home from work with nothing else in your head and forgetting where you’re going when you’ve been driving the same thing over and over again and then missing your street is quite another. Granted, I was busy singing in my car like a fool, but I still missed my street and had to turn around. It’s just crazy how the human mind operates/doesn’t operate.

        Liked by 1 person

    • I’m sorry, who is this? Did you call me or did I call you? But since I have you on the line, do you have any butter? I need to make a cake. I don’t remember why, but somebody needs a cake. Somewhere. At least I think they do, because there’s a box of cake mix on the kitchen counter, and there’s a sticky note on it that says “Make This”. Do you want some it when I’m done? Who is this? Do you have any butter?…. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

    • Exactly, he’ll get there. Truth be told, though, I have been feeling extremely guilty during my eye-opening decline that, as a young man, I used to get annoyed when “those old fogies” would annoy me with their lack of focus and penchant for repeating things. This is proof that karma is real. You get what you sow. Even if you don’t remember the lesson thirty minutes later… 😉


      • My Mother in conversation will talk about how often my dad repeats a story. In respect, I don’t point out how often she shares the same stories with me. At least they are always the same, so I can memorize all pertinent information should I later need it for anything.

        Liked by 1 person

  6. I could not have possibly done justice in a comment, so here’s a reblog, a nod and a little something as an addition from a female perspective:

    As to that whole ‘adult acne’ bull muffins? I have it too, so sympathies my brother! ❤ A visit to the dermatologist explained what was going on in my case anyhow. If yours continues to be bothersome and is untreatable for methods we all relied on as teenagers; I'd consider going to see one. Mine is rosacea. It's a WITCH with a B. Left untreated it can do enough damage to transform a reasonably normal looking person into Frankenstein or the Wicked Witch of the West (complete with 'warty' nose and cheeks. Ackkk! I don't know if that's what you suffer from, or it really is just hormone fluctuations, but you might want to find out.

    Liked by 2 people

    • First, thank you once again for your lovely sharing of my randomness on your blog.

      Second, this adult acne thing is truly bull muffin-esque. I do have a dermatologist, one that I subject myself to every three months, appointments wherein he generally finds something or other that he needs to cut off of me with either his blowtorch-thingy or his vindictive razor-blade thingy. (I’m now paying the price for my salad days wherein I basked in the sizzling sun for years on end with little regard for consequences. I haven’t been out in that sun for several decades without a robust SPF-slather of protection, but the damage has been done and the skin cancer proves it.) As for the acne, he’s explained that there are several factors. One is that my hormones are out of whack, as you sagely proffered as a source. The other is the fact that my cholesterol meds, which prevent my internals from absorbing such, has resulted in some of the cholesterol being extruded through my skin.

      Sorry about that image, because I know it’s not pretty. But I’m just putting it out there in case others are going through the same mess. After all, one of the joys of having a great WordPress family/community is that we can hopefully learn from one another. Even if the imagery is more conducive to a horror movie…


    • It’s really not a fair situation. By the time we have managed to collect an acceptable amount of worthy life-wisdom, our own bodies are already transpiring against us, making said knowledge a memory-fogged salad of disconnectedness. There’s some good bits in that salad, but connecting those dots and sharing them in a coherent manner is a challenge. Would you like the ranch dressing or the vinaigrette?

      Liked by 1 person

  7. #3
    My teen acne was finally abating as I entered my 40’s. It was good for a couple of years……. Then at 51, my mitral valve went. Got it replaced (am very proud my first word after surgery was not “MOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!). Post surgery my skin (with way too many wrinkles) started back with acne that’d put my teen years to shame. I spend a totally ridiculous amount of time & money on acne wrangling…..

    Pills … I only take 4 (5?) which I’m certain is more than my grandfather took at my age….

    Big time. I keep it under control bec if I say anything they all just more slower.

    We’ve reached a compromise. I work from home and my wardrobe consists of my company shirt, gentlemen’s jewelry, and footwear (so I feel dressed). This way I have the stamina/energy/patience to look semi-decent when I leave the house.

    Fun fact: There’s a limit to how much distance rx, reading rx, AND prism rx can be put into a lens at the same time. I’m nearing the limit and in a few years will probably need to get the eye surgery every ophthalmologist says I should’ve gotten as a child.

    I can sleep. I can sleep anywhere, anytime. The only problem is my body insists I only slept half what the clock says. Sleep apnea was discovered and I now own a CPAP. All was well until the software went all Hal 9000 on me….. With luck it’ll one day get fixed……


    Lack of energy HA! My mitral valve surgery was supposed to make me feel 10 years younger. HA. HA. I was 51 at the time. Well, instead of 10 years off the clock, I woke up with a body that was 81 and a libido that was 21. It’s a good thing I can laugh about this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be unable to keep your eyes open (and wow… this floor is SO comfortable) but you can’t sleep because your libido is pounding on your brain screaming, “HELLO!!!! What are you doing napping? I haven’t had any attention for THREE HOURS! What’s wrong with you?!”

    The imbalance has improved over time, though. Now my body is 71 and my libido 31 and it’s been there for several years. But it’s still annoying. Until Covid I was spending 3+ hours/day commuting. It get home, put my things down, then I’d hear this snoring sound. After a while I figured it out. I walked in the door and stopped to put my stuff down but my brain kept moving and was already in bed, sound asleep…. without me.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Oh my, I’m going to have fun with my responses on this one. Thank you for giving me the opportunity!

      #3: Love the “moooo” reference. As far as I know, my mitral valve is doing what it should, so I can’t complain about that. But I fully understand the constant wrestling (and the expense!) of find something that will properly treat the acne. Maybe there’s a business opportunity here for some company to come up with an acne product that isn’t based on 17-year-olds.

      #5: I also only take 4 prescription pills a day, although one of them is three times a day. And I’m also certain that’s more than either of my grandfathers, because they both firmly believed that a good night’s sleep would cure everything. They were wrong.

      #6: I generally keep my thoughts to myself, but not always, which has resulted in some tense situations…

      #7: Please expound on the “gentleman’s jewelry” angle. I’m retired, so I don’t have that workplace mess to deal with, but I’m really curious about what is considered fashionable these days…

      #8: My vision woes are relatively recent, as I could spot a woodchuck from seven miles out during most of my life. But now? I’m quickly approaching the point where surgical intervention might be a trending topic…

      #9: I envy you on this angle. I can be completely exhausted, wretched and depleted, but I cannot get to sleep for hours on end.

      #10: I am greatly intrigued by your apparently-raging libido. That sounds rather festive. Putting the mitral-valve replacement aside, because that really doesn’t have an appeal, what are you or your medications doing that are causing you to raise the flag, so to speak. Because MY medications send things south, and I’m not really happy about that…


  8. I can remember when I used to remember names and people didn’t annoy me and my “pharmacist” also worked part-time at the local Blockbuster Video. Instead of Ingmar Bergman and Catherine Deneuve, the movie about the decline of my youth would be more along the lines of Ben Stiller’s “Reality Bites.” Except it is now 30-years later, I’m divorced from the narcissistic television producer,  my closet is still full of flannel (only pjs have replaced my once hip shirts) and, as I curl up on my cot outside of the local Starbucks, I pray that this will be the day that one of the coffee giant’s patrons will carelessly toss me the free promotional Lisa Loeb CD that came with their Grande Strawberry Funnel Cake Frappuccino. It should distract me from my missing hairdryer, at least for a little while.

    Liked by 2 people

    • First, I think I knew that same Blockbuster pharmacist back in the day. (Perhaps we could have transacted with him together and qualified for a bulk-rate discount? We may never know.)

      Second, I’ve never seen “Reality Bites”. Yes, I realize this makes me deserving of several demerits in the cultural aspect of things, but it’s true.

      Third, I live in a Starbucks wasteland, much to my chagrin. The closest locale, which is not all that close, is a “training facility” where they send the newbies to learn the ropes. There’s just something discouraging about dealing with a 12-year-old who is mystified by me uttering the phrase “with room”. Suffice it to say that I make my own fraps now.

      Fourth, Lisa Loeb’s “Stay” still resonates with me, even if her cat-eye eyeglasses were distracting.

      Fifth, thank you for working in the hair-dryer reference. You complete me. 😉

      Liked by 1 person

      • Reality Bites was the epitome of my life immediately after college. I wanted to get as far away from my middle-class, suburban upbringing as possible, sport my “grunge chic” (after leaving my responsible 9 to 5 for the day), hang with the band and smoke things. Of course, just like Wynona Ryder’s character, I ultimately ended up dating the preppy asshole anyway. Oh, and fun fact, several years later said preppy asshole gave me a Starbucks Travel Mug with “Leave Room” etched into it.  I took it literally and never saw him again!

        Liked by 1 person

  9. I remember I used to be the one who always came up with names wherever a name was needed. However that’s not the case anymore. Yesterday, I couldn’t come up with the movie name “Fatal Attraction” although I know it is right on my finger tip somewhere. I was bad with memorizing numbers, but good with words, but not anymore. LOL. Love Ingmar Bergman’s black and white movies. Anything she plays a role will be wonderful. Even if she plays a villain. I think she did play a villain in one of Ingmar Bergman’s movies– “Autumn Sonata”.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I also used to be the trivia whiz, able to spout obscure detail about whatever in mere milliseconds. My family and friends hated to play trivia games with me, because I would always win. (And possibly not be so gracious about my winning, so there’s that.) Now? I don’t even try, as I can easily be tripped-up by the query “Name the movie that starred Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable and involved the Civil War.”

      Ingmar’s black and white movies are terrific. Such stark symbolism and human pathos. Not that I remember what those terms mean anymore… 😉


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