Tom Lehrer once introduced a song by saying that it was a sobering thought to realize that, when Mozart was his age, he had been dead for two years. Given that I turn 53 today, I think it’s obvious that I’m too old to die young.
Actually, it surprises me how little I feel like the old man I once expected to be by this age (I can remember when I thought mid-twenties was old). Bad eyes, knees, and hip, certainly, but I have surprisingly few general aches and pains to worry about.
And there are benefits to getting older. For one thing, I find that there are more women whom I find attractive these days. That’s partly because there are more women who are younger than me now, and partly because I’m no longer quite as shallow as I used to be.
My ambition for the rest of my life? To acquire sufficient money that I can have a large mansion with swimming pool, so that I can be the fat old guy with the garish trunks and terrycloth robe lounging poolside with a tall drink, with several attractive bikini-clad young women kissing my bald spot as they go by.
Update: The day could have started out better – as I opened the back gate to get to my car, I was stung on the web between my right thumb and forefinger. It seems that paper wasps have taken up residence in the gatepost. At least the rest of the day has been going better.