When a man wants a chicken sandwich, he wants a chicken sandwich.
Hungrier than a Tennessee black bear, after setting up my new 29 gallon tropical fish tank, I walked to Chick-fil-a from home (.75 of a mile), enjoyed a freshly-made spicy chicken sandwich combo with waffle-fries and a root-beer, and then walked back home with a full belly and a wide, satisfied smile on my face.
While waking back home along the lake, I ran across a young lady that works at the adjoining hospital. She immediately began bragging on me how fit I looked. (I’m not telling this story to toot my own horn, so please stick with me). She then asked how old I am. When I guardedly responded with “71,” she really turned up the compliments.
But wait! This is what I’ve learned the past year or so.
If I wasn’t old and didn’t look old, she never would have uttered a word. She would have passed me by in total silence. Maybe a hello or good evening, but no compliments would have come from her mouth. She and most others in her age group feel like they are completely safe complimenting an older gentleman. And that’s what I am, an older gentleman. A senior citizen, if you will.
So should I take her lauding as a compliment, or do I hang my head in disparagement, knowing that I’ve been looked upon by another young lady as just another harmless older-guy who’s trying to look younger than his age?
And who of us isn’t?
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