Age-Old Story


As is the usual, we were sitting around chatting after our Tuesday game night had concluded and the subject of our ages came up.  I think we’d joked about being out past our bedtime or something, and someone said we didn’t seem that old.  Which for some reason prompted us to prove them wrong by playing the, “Oh yeah, how old do you think we are?” card.

Now I’m not generally hung up on my age.  I might joke about it for comedic effect, but I’ve always maintained that age is just chronology, not attitude.  There are certain realities you have to deal with — my taste in chicken wings has by necessity gone from hot to medium to mild, for instance — but for the most part, I’m not going to limit the things I enjoy doing or my response to them simply because a certain number of years have ticked by.  And I like to think I don’t necessarily look my age.  Yes, some grey has started to creep in, but I’m not looking like it’s time to bunk up with the Crypt Keeper either.

So the person guessing low-balled on the first two people at the table, and I thought he’d probably do the same for me.  He looked at me, considering for a moment.  I sat there trying to look as young as possible.  After thinking it over, he nodded and gave his answer.

Forty-eight.

I’m forty-four.

Tomorrow I’m buying some Depends and some Matlock DVDs.

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