Unconventional wisdom says you’re only as old as the woman you marry. Which has been fine up until today.
Instead of a day alone at home to work on her photography business, Tracey had the usually jovial company of Master8. However, because he was sick, he was miserable.
“What have you been up to?” I asked him at lunchtime when the two of them picked me up from work for an attack on the local McDonalds.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Nothing?” scoffed his mother. “I got down on my knees and played Pokemon with you, for Pete’s sake. What do you mean, nothing?”
I used to get down on my hands and knees and play with the kids. I’m talking Master21 and Miss18, back when I was a young man in my twenties. But these days, not so much. My knees are shot from doing exactly this sort of thing.
I’ve heard snippets lately about ‘dads at 45’ and whether they’re being responsible, having kids so late in life. I’ve given this much thought and consideration and I’ve come to the conclusion anyone with a problem with this can go forth and multiply (as my father would say). Being a young dad or an old dad doesn’t make you a good dad. Sure, given people seem to be marrying much later in life, there’s an increased likelihood I won’t make it to little Miss1’s second wedding, but I hate making speeches so I’m adding this to the plus side.
To be honest, I don’t even think about my age very much. It doesn’t seem to come up, and aside from when I need to get down on the carpet and give a horsey ride, there’s nothing around the house to remind me I’m old. Tracey is ten years younger than me, so every time I glance her way I just assume I’m looking about on par with her.
But it seems, unless I want to start using Brylcreem and smacking my chops when I eat, I might have to walk around the house with blinkers on from now on.
On our way back from McDonalds there was a kerfuffle from the driver’s seat. I looked across and Tracey was readjusting her glasses and looking contrite.
“My fingernail got caught in a wrinkle,” she murmured.
Yep, things aren’t looking good around here because it seems my ‘fountain of youth’ might be about to run dry.
“Just do what I do,” Tracey told me when she read this post. “Pretend you don’t care.”
Just when I think I’m being cheeky, she out-cheeks the cheek out of me.
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