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38, Special -- Writer's Poke #301

"You're still relatively young," my doctor said, "And so unless you want one, I won't give you a rectal exam." He told me the same thing at last year's physical, too, and my assumption is that he's no more eager to check my prostate than I am to have him check my prostate.

That's the nice thing about being 38, though. I'm still "relatively young." Of course relatively young is a relative term, and when the checkout girls at the grocery store addresses me as "sir," I feel old. But I know I'm now too old to take any offense at being addressed as "sir."

In fact, the last time I was at the grocery store, the bagger complimented me on my Nike t-shirt. I thanked him, letting him know that it even glowed in the dark. His remark, which I know he didn't intend to be the least bit snarky: "It's good to hold on to your youth."

Damn. I'm getting old.

What is special about your current age?

"I don't feel old. I don't feel anything till noon. That's when it's time for my nap." -- Bob Hope


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