Aging like Fine Wine

I had a birthday this week. Pretty much a non-event. I’m at that age where there is nothing to celebrate anymore, it’s just a better than average arbitrary excuse to drink too much. I can already vote, drink, drive, get drafted, and rent a car. Pretty much the only thing left to look forward to is that inevitable moment when I realize I wasted my youth watching tv shows that featured laugh tracks. I think the over-under on the mid life crisis is about 35.

One potential positive though, I look young for my age. This is both a blessing and a curse. On the upside, when I’m older and dating women half my age, it’ll be way less creepy. But on the other hand, I occasionally get laughed at when I order beer. I suppose it’s the price I pay. I have started noticing the tell-tale signs though. I’m starting to get those little lines around my eyes, the ones that really haggard blonds have when they faked tanned too much. It’s not worth it ladies. Doing that to yourself is like putting a turbocharger on an engine, it might make it run a little hotter now, but the lifespan on that sucker goes in the toilet. Nobody wants to date a catcher’s mitt.

Also, I’ve noticed aging more in my peer group than in myself. When the women that your friends are dating start to look old I think that’s a bigger shock than seeing your buddies turn in to fat old guys. It’s because women are held to a higher standard. We equate feminine beauty with youth. It’s an evolutionary thing; we are attracted to women who have higher reproductive potential. This is why women panic when they think they are getting old and haven’t found a mate. It’s hard to tell yourself not to settle when your ovaries are audibly ticking. One the other hand, our swimmers are good for the long haul. Hence, we find our selves saying things like, “Is that his daughter? Oh wait, look where his hand is… definitely not his daughter… ok… hopefully not his daughter.”

They say stress ages you. So far I’ve been pretty craftily avoiding the stuff. I’ve been dodging and weaving and so far it hasn’t laid a glove on me that I couldn’t roll with pretty easily. Now that I’m in the real world though I can see it starting to raise its head. Actual responsibility is a new experience for me. The fact that things I do matter to people other than me is pretty intense. This is actually a pretty well crafted experiment to see whether stress is what makes people look older. If you check on me in a year and I’m aging like Dorian Gray after confronting his picture then we have our evidence.