Six gray hairs.
It is with this discovery that I've realized my body has begun its final assault against my youth, and judging by the experience of my peers it is a battle that is lost. For as much as I've denied the fact, the horrid truth is I am now old. Thirty years may as well be sixty as much as this decrepit frame is concerned. Soon I will be forced to pay 20% less for theater ticket prices and be called "sir" by pimple faced urchins serving me my Egg McMuffin meal. Even worse, I will no longer have my I.D. checked when I purchase alcohol. My only consolation is that, as senility sets in, I'll be able to flirt with teenage girls and push 8 year olds down without repercussion. A shallow comfort, but the only one I have left.
Sincerely,
S. Doog
