Monday, July 16, 2012

A bright spot from last week

It's time for me to dust off my I.D., as I apparently need it to prove my advanced age. While AARP constantly stuffs my mailbox with leaflets and ads for old people insurance and funeral pre-planning, people who meet me in person still believe I'm considerably younger than my age.

This latest time, it was by better than fifteen years.

I met up with a nutritionist after work on Friday; one of our "wellness" benefits is the opportunity to do so at reduced rates. She's a perky, early-thirties former Marine (if nothing else, that fact alone will help me stay on whatever plan she provides). At one point in the process, she asked my age.

She thought I was only a few years older than her.

Cue preening and self-satisfaction.

Though in all honesty, good genes play the major role in the skin-of-a-thirty-year-old-at-fifty-three drama. Dislike of sitting in the sun and a lifelong aversion to cigarettes helped a bit, I suppose.

I intend to enjoy these moments to the very fullest, as there is no way to know how long this state of affairs will last. 

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