16, going on 17

Last night Guido and I were in bed.

Relax readers. This isn’t going to be another one of my interminable posts about our athletic extracurricular activies between the sheets involving mayonnaise and an unidentified kitchen appliance which makes a dull, but highly pleasurable, buzzing sensation. Absolutely nothing was happening. I’m guessing Guido was just laying there next to me minding his own business and thinking. I can’t tell you exactly what he was thinking about because, unfortunately, I’m not able to read his mind – but, whereas you and I might count sheep – Guido usually spends his last moments of consciousness carefully weighing up the benefits of a short crust pastry over a sweet puff. If you’ve ever eaten one of his melt in the mouth apple turnovers, then you’d know why.

“How do you feel?” I said. I said this in the style of a caring and kindly physician. The sort of doctor who has just taken your pulse and is alarmed to discover your blood pressure is 140 over 90 yet still smiles at you as if all vital signs are perfectly normal.

At first Guido didn’t react. He does this sometimes just after lights out. If he thinks I’m about to launch into a heated debate which has absolutely nothing to do with baked apples then he’ll just pretend to be fast asleep.

“What I mean is, how do you really feel?” I was still sounding caring and kindly and wasn’t in any way whatsoever concerned about the possibility of rapid heartbeat.

“I feel fine,” he said from the darkness, “I really do feel fine.” Then there was further silence for a bit until he finally added without any prompting, “But, why are you asking me?”

Okay, I’d been reading about a Dutchman, who is legally seeking to change his biological age from 69 to 49. It was reported he thought his true age was damaging his ratings on the dating app Tinder.

“Perhaps I should rephrase that question and simply ask you, how old do you feel?” I asked.

Forget legal. I think if you were able to rewind the clock it would be a terrific idea. You see, I quite like the thought of having the swimmers body of a 19 year old but the 70 year old brain of someone smart, like Einstein. That way I could casually discuss the laws of physics in figure hugging Speedos with a poolside hunk. As opposed to the reality of actually having the body sag of an Albert yet annoyingly still the complexion of a spotty teenager.

“That depends on what I’m doing at the time,” said Guido wisely. “I like to think I still have the staying power of someone a third of my age. Yet I know these knuckles can’t knead bread the way they used to.”

It’s funny what getting old means to some people. We made a pact right there and then. I promised I’d stop fretting about my body (on account of the wrinkles) if Guido promised to stop worrying about his sweet pies (on account of the dough).

Thankfully I’m not on, and nor have I ever been on, the Tinder app. I’ve got Guido to thank for that. But if you are, and you chat to a Dutchman who tells you he really doesn’t feel his age, he really is his age.

Advertisements

38 thoughts on “16, going on 17

  1. I was told I had 6 months to live when I was 27. I’m now 61. I try to cherish each day. I’ve earned every wrinkle and crease in my face. That doesn’t mean I like seeing them, but it’s better than dying at a young age.

    Like

  2. Is “kneading bread” a euphemism? I’m sixty-two. I don’t look a day older than sixty-one and I don’t feel a day younger than one-hundred and five. I suppose it could be worse.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. The alternative to aging is not a good thing, and the wrinkles just show signs of a life lived, and in your case, after following along for awhile,a life lived well.

    Still, a good crust is to die for!

    Like

  4. I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping I’d hear about what you two were eating in bed this time around. But this was a wonderful post. There’s nothing wrong with getting older. I can’t do a lot of things like I used to, but if I can still do them well then I’m not complaining.

    The only reason why I look my age is my facial hair. When I grow it, that’s where my gray is. Otherwise people still think I’m in my mid-30s.

    Like

  5. The sad thing is that Einstein made most of his breakthroughs when young — he was 26 when he published a paper on the theory of relativity. So you probably want the body of a 19 year old and the brain of a 19 year old, with perhaps a touch more wisdom.

    Is Guido a saint? I am not sure I would put up with conversation starters when trying to sleep, especially after a long day in the kitchen and an acrobatic evening involving mayonnaise.

    Like

  6. Okay I will not trot out the cliches – age is only a number etc etc etc. Guido is right about the activity often determining the age you feel. When I get down to fetch the ball that went under the bureau I’m 22…. when I try to get up I’m 72. And that’s all within less than a minute.

    Like

  7. if you work out every day, you will always look young …

    … now I’ve strengthened my arms but I remember 3 years ago, my arms were not as big, and my webcam “partners” used to worry that I might be under 18 (because I was working out without working on my arms)

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.