Here’s a fun question, and one that might provide some insight into the whole “getting old” thing: When did the simple act of driving a car start to hurt?

My beautiful wife Carrie and another couple recently traveled to Atlantic City for a few sun-filled (man, was it hot!) and fun-filled days — for those immature ones among us who think it’s actually fun to press the buttons for EVERY FLOOR in the hotel elevator! The ride to A.C. from my home here on Long Island is three hours. (No need to ask why someone who lives 10 minutes from the beach travels three hours to … go to the beach! That’s not the point.)

The point is, when we pulled into a rest stop about 2 hours into the trip for the obligatory bathroom break, my left foot was throbbing — and I don’t even use that one to drive! Also, I had a shooting pain in my right thigh, and — for the first time in my life — I’ll thank you not to ask about my ass. But if you must know, it went numb just as we hit the Verrazano Bridge. There’s just no place to shift!

A quick aside: Why is it that no matter how many times you try to make seat adjustments, you just can’t get perfectly comfortable in a car? The headrest pushes your head too far forward, the lumbar support is a myth, there’s no good place to rest your non-driving foot… Who are they making these seat positions for … ANTS?? (H/T to “Zoolander.” And 50 bonus points to the first reader who can find the original “Zoolander” reference in this blog series.)

And speaking of pain, when did Tommy Bahama take over the beach market? Umbrellas, swimwear, and those ubiquitous chairs. If they were any lower to the ground, I’d be sitting under the sand! So needless to say, when the urge to urinate sneaks up on you, which it does when you’re as getting old as many of us are, there’s not much time to get to a place of relief. (Reader poll No. 17: Ocean, or long walk to the comfort station??) And if you’re overcome in a Tommy Bahama low-rider beach chair, all you can do is try to come up with a clever answer to the wife’s question, “Did you go swimming? Why is your leg wet?”

Another aside: I recently asked Carrie which one of us she thinks spends more time in wet underwear. (Too soon?) We called it a tossup.

Anyway, here are some handy steps for extricating oneself from a low-rider Tommy Bahama beach chair.

1. Skootch up to the edge of the seat.
2. Fall into the sand
3. Roll onto your stomach.
4. If you’re familiar with yoga, assume the tabletop position. Now breathe, and relax.
5. Try to secure your footing in the shifting sand.
6. Press your “Life Alert” button for assistance. Because — all together now — “I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up!”

So pain, it appears, is the thing that wears you out and starts you down that path to actually being old. Pain means medication. Medication means doctor visits. Doctor visits mean co-pays. And that means less cash for the truly important things in life: cannabis and alcohol. Which means, you’re old.

Carrie summed it up best recently when she declared, “I just don’t feel safe to move!”

I feel your pain, hon. Literally.