Happy birthday to moi

I'm cheating with this selfie--I no longer have my beard.  The beard lasted several months, however, before skin irritation compelled me to expel it.  I was surprised it lasted that long.

Anyway, I'm 58.  One of the scarier things about birthdays is that we're always one year older than the age we declare.  To wit, at "58," I am in fact starting my 59th year.  Not only am I starting my 59th year, I am in fact in my sixth decade, not my fifth.

Think about it: when we're 10, for instance, we're starting our second decade.  20, our third.  And so on.  We age ahead of ourselves.  So, every time you ask yourself the birthday question, "Am I really that old?" you are, in fact, even older than that.  I have no idea what I just typed--it sounded good in my head.

Sirens.  The Italics Police are coming for me.  I mean, the Italics Police.


Lee, 58