"Smile, boys, that's the style."
I'm 39 today, for the 15th time. Oh yeah. 39 is a rough age. Rougher still when you realize that you are depending on Jack Benny humor to blunt Father Time's impact on your psyche. Odd how I would put a sharper edge on my physique and a duller edge on the realization of passing time. It's working in reverse of that. Up until now, I've never really let aging affect me much. For some reason, it seems to be bearing down on me in a new and powerful way this year.
Better get that sorted out in a hurry. In the words of the old song from The Great War:
Now, stand back, Mates, and just let me give Kaiser Bill wot for!
Better get that sorted out in a hurry. In the words of the old song from The Great War:
- Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag,
- And smile, smile, smile,
- While you've a Lucifer to light your fag,
- Smile, boys, that's the style.
- What's the use of worrying?
- It never was worth while, so
- Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag,
- And smile, smile, smile.
Now, stand back, Mates, and just let me give Kaiser Bill wot for!
posted by Harry at 6:17 PM
3 Comments:
Yeah I'm beginning to wonder if the long hair and young blonde make me look desperate to avoid fate. Not that I care what it looks like but I do see a man very much our age in the mirror. Thank god the young blonde really likes me. Now, when baldness hits ... ? Or certain issues of performance ... ? Pretty soon.
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Indeed, when I look in the mirror I sometimes see someone who is aging rather well, and other times I see a slowly dissipating roue, with increasingly lidded and bagged eyes and a definite Nasty Uncle kind of leer. I don't think any young blondes will do anything except edge away while never turning their backs on me.
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