Sweating the small stuff ? Fuhgeddaboudit!

I’ve reached the stage in life where I don’t sweat the small stuff. For the most part.

Life is too short and getting shorter, so the small stuff — and sometimes the big stuff — can be a real burden.

For example, when my wife spots a spaghetti sauce stain on my shirt and grumbles, “You’re not going to wear that,” I promptly respond, “Fuhgeddaboudit!” Which she doesn’t understand because she’s not Italian, so I have to translate: “I don’t care, it’s not important, I’m Italian, and gravy stains are a necessary part of life.”

See? I’m not sweating — and I never even read that book, “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff ” by Dr. Richard Carlson, who popularized the phrase. I’m self-taught.

Most of my life, I’ve lain awake at night, staring at the ceiling, sweating all kinds of stuff, small, medium and large. It began when I was a toddler in the crib, worrying about when my next bottle was coming, or if it would come at all.

Now, I’m at the point in life where I don’t have time to sweat at all, which is what happens when you get older, and you realize there are more days behind you than ahead of you, so it’s a good idea to get your priorities straight.

My doctor recently told me, “You’re overdue for your colonoscopy,” which was something I didn’t want to hear. It’s not like I’ve been looking forward to the day when I can rendezvous with my gastroenterologist, who’s a great guy, but the less we see each other the better. So I tried not to worry about the small stuff, until they told me it could be big stuff so I should schedule an appointment.

“OK, see you in the procedure room,” I said. “Or wherever you conduct the magical mystery tour.”

The other day my wife was bothering me about more small stuff. Last year, I cracked the bumper on her car and said I’d have it repaired, until I learned it would cost about $2,000. I told her not to obsess over the bumper and stop sweating. I promised to fix it and I did. With duct tape. Fortunately, duct tape comes in many vibrant colors, so I could match the color of her car. Almost.

Lately, everyone in my family has been grumbling about small stuff, complaining they can’t get in the garage because there’s so much junk there. I told them I would put it in the shed, but the shed and the basement are filled with junk too.

“Dad, you have to do something about this,” my daughter insisted. “It’s time to downsize.”

I politely responded, “Don’t sweat it. I’ll leave it for you to downsize when I’m gone.” Problem solved. (That didn’t go over well.)

Then, she said, “Dad, there’s a crack in the living room ceiling. What’re you going to do about it?” “I’m not going to look at it,” I replied. “It will go away.”

Yard work? What’s that? A flood in the basement? It’ll dry. Stubble on my face? Who cares? All the young dudes don’t even bother to shave. Why should I?

So what if I wear the same clothes every day? I’m trying to reduce my carbon footprint and stop climate change. The washer and dryer use up a lot of energy, and if I wear the same outfit, my grandkids won’t have to worry about coastal erosion.

I even considered wearing pajamas all day. If kids can wear them to school, why can’t I wear them to Whole Foods?

And then, there’s politics, which is really nasty small stuff. To me, elections are one gigantic, irritating lump of small stuff that won’t go away. Why does the government torment us like this? Most people just want to live their lives, not listen to constant prattling in the media about who’s the best and who’s the worst. The older you get, the more you realize nothing really changes, so I won’t sweat it until the president or the governor comes to take away my gas stove and my hot water heater.

Right about now, you’re probably thinking, “This guy’s off his rocker. Why am I reading this?”

OK, the truth is there are certain things you should sweat. For example, when my grandson misbehaves, I tell him, “If I ever said that to my mother, my dad would have given me a swat right across the behind!” (Oops, forget I said that. Don’t report me to Big Brother or Big Mother. I take it back.)

CORRECTION: I tell him, “If I ever said that to my mother, my dad would have put me in timeout.”

Just remember this. When you have fewer days ahead of you than behind you, concentrate on what’s important. Spend time with your family if you get along with them. If you don’t get along with them, try harder. Make more friends. Be kind to strangers. Visit your buddy in memory care. Say your prayers. Begin your day by saying thank you and end it the same way.

And always remember to wear a mopeen around your neck when you’re eating spaghetti so you don’t get gravy on your shirt.