My age is closer to 80 than 20.
In other words over 50 and I don’t care how much people say today’s 50 is yesteryear’s 40. The face in the mirror has little resemblance to that of my youth. Girls at the bar sometimes call me ‘Papa’. 50 is 50.
At least I’m not bald and better to have grey than nay.
I could always dye my hair, except the only two color choices are fluorescent orange or shoe polish black. Carrot Top or the Penguin. I’ll opt for aging with a little dignity. Not much, but the one advantage to being over 50 is that I’m eligible for a Thai retirement visa and I renewed mine on Friday.
No trips to the border. No flights to Penang. No nasty faces at the Phnom Penh embassy.
Sometimes being 50 plus has its benefits.
The entire process took three hours. The lady in charge asked why so many farangs wanted to live here.
“You ever been to the snow room at Dreamworld?” The amusement center has a small sledding slope.
“Yes.” She could see the logic on this question.
“And how long you last in the cold?”
“Two minutes.” She shivered in memory of the sub-freezing temperature.
“Well, that’s why farangs want to live here. We don’t like the cold either.”
I didn’t mention anything about the girls and bars, but she probably already knew that.
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