Memory, sight, hearing — everyone tells us that our senses and abilities start to go as we get a little older.

And I accept this. It’s part of the aging process.

But the ability to zip up your fly? C’mon, man! Does that have to go, too!?!?

Ever since I turned 40, I cannot for the life of me, zip up my fly. This happens, or should I say, DOESN’T happen, multiple times daily.

And it’s not just me. Chances are if you are a man and turned 40 this phenomena is happening to you, too.

Look down; check it now.

Welcome to the club, all male, over 40, and crying for help.

I can accept gravity takes over in some areas. There will be puffy eyes, hanging jowls, sagging love handles. But a downed zipper, really?

We all know the act of zipping should be a simple, automatic task. But for some reason the ‘auto’ section of my brain — which controls the draft intake at my crotch — decided at 40 to shut down.

It’s awkward, and downright embarrassing, putting you in strange positions at work, at home, on a plane, crossing the street, waiting on line at the supermarket. The list goes on and on.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve looked down in the middle of a client meeting and noticed a gaping hole.

My biggest fear? My fly is down and my baby mouse pokes out.

What would my excuse be? Your honor, I’m 41 and there’s something wrong with my zipper? This problem could land you jail time, man.

Look, it’s not just me. Zipper failure is happening to my neighbors in the Midwest, my friends in the U.S., and folks abroad.

I’ve clinically named this condition “dyszippera” – and I’m looking for a cure.

My wife makes fun of me, my kids make fun of me, but shame from my family hasn’t fixed me.

My options are limited.

I can do a frequent zipper check with my fingertips swinging regularly past my crotch.

I can constantly look down and fixate on my fly region.

I can invent some sort of fly alarm that alerts me to zip up.

I can switch to button fly jeans, sweatpants or Zubaz.

Yes, I could try all these fixes, but they’re creepy, awkward, time intensive or just not my thing.

I’m 41, and this year all I want is for my zipper to stay up.

I know. It’s a lot to ask for.