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.