That noise? Oh, it’s my knee.

Even in this youth-obsessed culture of ours, there are a lot of things about aging that are kept very, very quiet.

You’d think any such bad tidings would be waved at us like so many flags, just as a way to further nationalize us into the high-fiber, deep-breathing, sun-avoidant, heart-rate-monitored, liposuctioned, mood-enhanced, hair-colored landscape of middle-aged America.

Yet somehow, we remain in the dark about the inevitable crossing over from Mono During Finals Week street, which heads straight through the Shouldn’t Move the Couch Alone zone, eventually pulling up to the Weird Maladies cul-de-sac. None of these territories are marked on a map. It’s easier to find out where Jennifer Aniston lives.

Suddenly we’re regulars in the Emergency Room, sheepishly huddled among the knife wounds and screaming ear-infected babies. We know what everyone else is thinking: She doesn’t look sick to me. Of course they don’t know, just as we didn’t until now, that Weird Maladies not only exist, they almost always happen on weekends or after hours.

Rashes, ringing in the ears, locked up backs, knees and jaws; apocalyptic reactions to foods once considered treats; numb hands, inexplicably swollen nose bridges. Who could have imagined?

One can only hope that during all the hard work over our new healthcare policy, someone slips in a small line-item for better age-related health education. No Child Left Behind was all well and good. Let’s get on to No Adult Sandbagged by the Inevitable.