Forgetting How Old We Are

One of Kathy’s friends explained that she was getting emails from a local college about getting set up for a career of sorts.

“Maybe I should look into it,” she said.

Kathy laughed.

“You’re sixty years old! You’re going to go to school to get a career and someone is going to bring you aboard at 62 years old?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” the friend said.

And it made me laugh.

We do have a tendency to forget how old we are from time to time.

An old friend and an old boss passed away this week.

“How old you think he was?” A former coworker asked me.

“Geez, mid-70’s I’d guess,” I said.

“Really? That old?” He asked.

“Dude, you’re 63. You think he was your age?”

“Oh. That’s right. I’m old.”

It’s a common theme and people say dumb shit like, “age is just a number.”

It ain’t!

I got stung by a bee of some sort yesterday.

Felt I was being electrocuted!

As a kid we would all get stung every day.

Never bugged me.

Now?

All swollen. Non-stop itching. A rash of sorts.

“Why am I suddenly allergic?” I asked.

“You’re old,” was the response I got.

Oh yeah.

I forgot.