It is that time of year again.
My birthday.
As I gaze into the future and wonder . . how long, how long can this go on . . I was brought up short by a card I received from a long-time friend.
The front of the card was promising.
But then I opened it and found this!
I might add, petulantly, that the sender of this card is a full EIGHT YEARS OLDER THAN ME!
Still, when SWMBO came by my post at the computer to wish me a happy birthday, I just stared at her and said "Amazing!"
What's amazing, she asked.
And I said "I am 84 years old today!"
In spite of a plethora of bad habits and conduct over the years, I continue to live on.
Last night as Judy was preparing for slumber I came in and, in my best imitation Paul McCartney voice, sang " . . will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 84!"
But I ask you, "Is this paragon of pulchritude the face of an 84 year old man?"
My grandfather, if he were still with us, would have wished me a happy 85th birthday.
He maintained that one's first birthday was their birth day.
So a person's birthday was actually one year more than the number of years one had existed.
Well, whatever the number, I'll take it.
Now, what's for dinner?
