80 years older in 10 seconds.

Not being a shaving type, I really don’t have a whole lot of reason for looking at my face. But today as I was brushing my teeth I happened to catch my reflection. My first thought was that it has been a long time since I trimmed, About three months I figured, and it’s redder than usual. If I can find a horned helmet, I could apply for a job on a Longboat.

Then upon close inspection I noticed why it looked redder than usual, There is a patch of grey hairs off on the side, making the rest look darker by contrast. Not one or two or three or four or five or six or seven… but around 12 grey hairs right there in my beard. All hanging out together like little segregationists too.
So at 29 I guess I’d better get ready to be an old person.
I’m off to the store to buy diapers, prune juice, and long white socks. Anybody wanna hear about my prostrate?

That’s not even the worst of it. It’s gonna be tough to howl at the moon while your dentures soak.

Not to mention how Arthritis is going to effect the whole stalking and slashing bit.

Yeah, yeah. I’ve got several gray hairs on my head. These aren’t any little pissant hairs, they are 3 feet long.

Horned helmet? The real vikings would laugh themselves silly and most definitely wouldn’t let you anywhere near their boat.

Can I hear about your prostrate lying down?



Hahaha! Hoohoo! Hoo, boy, a horned helmet! whew! ::clutches sides::

er, what ftg said.


For what it’s worth, I’m a year behind ya and have noticed a few of those buggers myself :frowning:

Sure, pick on the feeble minded old man. Why If I was younger I would… back in my day… you damn whipersnapers.

When I was 21 or so (I’m 31 now), I was working the 10-hour graveyard shift at Waffle House (Southerners will know Waffle House; basically it’s a chain of greasy diners with the grill right there in plain view behind the counters). It was 7 a.m. or so and I’d just gotten off work, and it was still somewhat dark outside: dark enough to see faint reflections on the insides of the windows. I sat down at a table, totally exhausted, with a cup of coffee.

And I glanced over at the window, and for just one second I could see a faint reflection of my face on the inside of the window. I could see enough detail to recognize it as my face, but it was vague and dark enough that for a moment my brain painted it as the face of a 70-year-old. The face of ME, at age 70. It scared hell out of me, not least because it was wearing a fry-cook’s uniform.

Ten years later, I can vividly picture the old man’s face that looked back at me in that reflection. I wonder if when I’m 70 I’ll look in the mirror one day and get a shock of recognition?

I used to snape whipers back when I was a young’n, but it was all the style then. Not like now, when a good snape can’t even be found, let alone a whiper to do it to.