Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ageing, dennis healey, marks and spencers, pubic hair, simon and garfunkel
Today at work I distractedly had to pull two long, straggling silver blonde hairs – as wiry and snakelike as Art Garfunkel’s pubes – out of my left eyebrow.
I knew I was getting older when I had my hair cut and the barber asked me whether ‘sir wouldn’t also like his eyebrows trimmed’. Now I do the plucking myself, although I do wonder whether I’m capable of having blonde Dennis Healeys at some point in the future.
One of my neigbours told me that the real sign of getting old is when you wander into Marks and Spencers and say to yourself, ‘Oh, that’s a nice pair of slacks.’ If so then I’m glad to say that I’m some way off.
Perhaps because my own case of ageing is so far no more than a mild attack of ageing, I’ve got to say I’m rather enjoying it. I like the odd grey hair, the fact that I can talk about a ‘golden age’ of journalism while seamlessly complaining about loud music or the lack of appreciation for growing vegetables among the young. I suppose that’s why I ended up marrying Mrs Monkeysized a few weeks ago, and why I think the use of the words ‘urban’ and ‘street’ invariably mean that something is to be avoided at all costs.
I’m enjoying all of this ageing stuff. I just hope it’s not fatal.
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The musings of Mr Monkeysized 