I am not one to shy away from confessing my age. At least not since my scare with heart failure while still in my twenties. But now...well let's just say I'll be doing the happy dance on each of my birthdays. One of which happens to be today. Yes that's right. My 48th. Happy happy 48th.
And while I need to go join the family celebration, I want to quickly share my philosophy.
First, when it comes to birthdays in general, they are very good things. Waaaay better than no birthdays. I have known way too many people who no longer have birthdays, and I'm not voting for that plan.
Second, there's this whole deal of pretending you're younger than you really are. Frankly, I don't get it. If I were tell someone I was, say, 29; chances are good they'd either flat out know I was lying, or wonder what the heck happened to me. SHE's 29? Are you kidding me? She look's HORRIBLE!
But if I tell them my real age, there's a chance they'll think I look a lot older than that, but if that's the case, just imagine what they'd think if I told them I was 29? Odds are better, however, that they'll think I'm holding up pretty well for someone of my advanced years, especially one who's been through the ringer. (Besides who but a 48-year-old would even think of the term ringer?)
In sum, I'd much rather have folks think I've held up well than wonder what the heck happened to me, so for that reason I always tell the truth about my age and take my chances.
I guess I'm weird, but that's what I think.