Yesterday happened to be my birthday. In real years it was number seventy-one. My ex-boss, he's now eighty-one, always said, "it's only a number". He's right of course. What else could it be. But, in my analytical way of thinking my lifespan can be anything I want it to be depending on the pending situation.
If I happen to be at the top of my game; feeling good with few aches and pains I could tell people I'm sixty. Last August a lady in a grocery store told me this. I asked her if her name was Mrs. Magoo but she didn't get the joke.
Last evening I took my son-in-law and my grandson to an NHL hockey game between the Arizona Coyotes and the Vancouver Canucks. The lad is a huger than huge hockey kid and this was his first game ever in person. To say he was excited would be like asking would I like it if Shania Twain called me for a date.
The boy's excitement made feel like 35.
I'm writing this at 1 am Mountain Time. I have to awaken at 7:30 am. Trust me when I awaken number will be around 105.