Better than a dead Methuselah.

Don’t particularly like the  fact that I keep looking older and older. Yes, looking more and more like my actual age. An old man. Not that far from 80. It’s a blow to my vanity. To my delicate ego.  Guess that’s the peril of living long enough to age. Physically.  I’d like to look young and vibrant. I wonder what Methuselah looked like at age 78. He still had almost 900 years to go. He must have looked like a kid when he turned 100. Of course, maybe there wasn’t a real Methuselah. Only a mythical one. If so, I shouldn’t complain. Because I’m real. Not a mere myth. And very much alive. That’s better than being a dead Methuselah. --Jim Broede