Lookin' Good!

People tell me that I look good. Usually, this comment is phrased as, “you look great for sixty-eight!” I wonder if that’s one of those left-handed compliments, like, “you throw good, for a girl.” But really, I’ll take it, because I am actually sixty-eight-years-old. If I were only fifty-eight, I’m sure that I wouldn’t take it so well.

Most of the people who tell me this are Thai, which discounts it somewhat. Thais are unfailingly friendly and polite, and if they can think of something nice to say, they’ll say it. Sometimes they tell me, “you have a nice nose!” Back home it would be different. Americans would be more likely to think that my nose was rather too big. But big noses are popular in Thailand, so that works in my favor.

I am also bald headed, which is okay with me. I make sure that what is left of my hair is kept very short and neat with frequent haircuts. A bald uncle told me when I was a boy that frequent haircuts were a must for a bald man, or else it all looks very messy. I had teased him about saving money on haircuts. Now I also know that the opposite is true.

It is likely that I do look okay for sixty-eight. More importantly, I feel okay. My blood pressure is on the high side, but not high enough to worry the doc’s. (I was at the hospital the other day for a blood test. My reading was 143/78. I was so relieved that I almost lit up a cigarette on the spot.) I have an enlarged prostate, but what sixty-eight-year-old can say that he does not? I have a gall stone with the remarkable diameter of one centimeter, but I am assured that many people make it through life with those things and never experience any discomfort at all. I’ve always been lucky, so I’ll take my chances.

I try to think about my cholesterol as little as possible.

Being born is such a crap-shoot. I’d be surprised if many people would take the chance if the decision were theirs. “Okay, here’s the deal,” says the somebody, “either you can choose not to be born, and nothing good or bad will ever happen to you, and you’ll never know the difference,” the somebody gives a knowing smile, “or you can be born, and it might work out okay or you may be subjected to a life of confusion, pain and suffering the likes of which only God can imagine, to no purpose at all, and then die horribly and alone.”

Thank you sir, but I’ll take never-having-been-born.

But that’s just me.