Every time my husband, Mike, looks at a picture of himself the first question that comes out of his mouth usually is, "Do I really look that old?" And my response usually is, "Yes. We both really look that old." Maybe you can relate to the following poem. I hope it's not too much of a downer because I really don't mind getting older. It beats seeing my name in the obits.
When Did That Happen?
"Who is that person in the picture?" I ask.
"No way can that be me. I know it can't
be me because that person in the picture is old.
She looks like my mother and my memory of her is old.
As for me, I am eternally young. Right?"
Then I see the hands holding the picture.
Shockingly, I realize those are old people hands.
Shaking my head I ponder, "When did that happen?"