At 78, it’s all relative, but I think I’m so much better-looking than the proof indicates.
Sherry and I agreed a few years ago that we would not allow our pictures to be taken any longer. When future generations glance at photos of their great-grandparents, we want them to be astonished by how “with it” we both look.
I fear I am long past that youth and vitality pose. Proof of this circumstance can be found on my driver’s license. Judging by that photo, I wouldn’t allow that aging relic to ever to get behind the wheel.
More proof. Yesterday, a photo of me appeared in our local paper — or I was told it was me. Actually, it was of an old man whose strands of gray hair were attempting to cover up his expansive bald spots. My sagging jowls and enlarged ears reminded me of a basset hound in his senior years.
I’ve been told that vanity is one of the seven deadly sins. Should I pray for forgiveness for wanting to look at least average?
Okay, once again it’s all about acceptance. To prove I’m over this affliction, I have included a current photo of myself.
And many more