‘And other things that make you realize that you are really, truly, finally OLD.’
Dude Man had another birthday Sunday. But still, no matter how many birthdays he has, I will always have more.
His Dudeness celebrating his 70th birthday — six months after I did
See, I am six months older than Dr. Dude. I guess it didn’t bother him back when we met, because, well, we got married. And, no, I wasn’t an heiress or even a rich widow.
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- Dude Man and me at our wedding
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- Dude Man and Me at The Child’s wedding
Of course, back when we met, I looked younger. Not just younger than I look now, but younger than most people my age. “You’re kidding” or even “You can’t be serious,” is what people would say on those rare occasions when I had to divulge my age. “You look much younger.”
Me, back when I wanted to look older than I really was. Gosh, that was a long time ago
Not anymore. Now, when pressed for my age or when I must recite my birthdate (something that happens with more and more frequency as I pick up a prescription or check in for an unpleasant test of some sort) I get no reaction. None.
But if I’m in a social situation where ages are shared, like when I celebrated my birthday on a birding trip to Brazil a couple of years ago, I get, “Gosh, you look GOOD” — with the “good” emphasized and sort of drawn out. Like GOOoood. Trust me, this doesn’t mean that you look “good.” It means that you look old. And if someone says, “You look amazing“? You might want to pick out your burial outfit.
I got a lot of “You look GOOOooods” that night. The cake helped. So did a few caipirinhas
Dude Man has yet to get “You look GOOOooood.” He’s much more likely to hear “Has anyone told you that you look like James Taylor?” Um, yeah. Like a zillion times. James Taylor’s brother Livingston even told him he looks like James Taylor. I’ve mentioned this doppelganger deal before, of course. In “I’ve Seen Fire and I’ve Seen Birthdays,” and “Sweet Baby Wayne,” among other posts.
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And if being told you look “good” isn’t bad enough, just wait until you’re mistaken for your parent’s sibling. Yup. That’s happened to me. More than once. And people don’t ask, “Are you two sisters?” No, they look at Mom and me and go, “Sisters, right?” (Check out the photo at the top of this post for irrefutable proof that this is the case.)
Oh well. It could be worse. People could mistake me for my Mom’s brother.
Happy Birthday, James. Er, Wayne. Er, Dude.
Dude (71) and Cousin Charlie (72) youthfully yuck it up on yet another birthday
Amagansett, New York. June 2024