I’m 46 years old. I’m no longer young. I hate it when people ask how old I am, but it’s only going to get worse.
So far, I feel like I’m aging more gracefully than a lot of people — without the use of hair coloring, ponytails, earrings, sports cars, and cosmetic surgery.
I’m still married to my first wife.
To the dads of several of my son’s friends, I pose this question: If you are in fact a bald, middle-aged fat-ass, how long can you pretend to still be young and hip?