You Look Good

As I approach another birthday, I notice that I’m surrounded by kind people. I should learn from their examples. Although, it seems much of this kindness is reflexive and insincere. That’s all right. I’d rather have someone lie to be kind than be a big fat mean person.

Ever notice how many people have September birthdays? Wonder why? Well, there tends to be more drunken “oopsie, forgot to pull out” sex between Christmas and New Years. Hence, babies like me — born of tall pints and bad decisions.

While carding one of my customers last night, I noticed it was her birthday and wished her a happy one. I also made it about me. (We’re such narcissists.)

“My birthday is next weekend,” I added, as though she gave two shits. I mean, I need to know her age to do my job properly. She doesn’t need to know mine. I have nothing in common with her. No future. Nothing. Just a brief exchange of social sedation for cash.

“Oh, cool.”

“Yep. But, I’m not going to be twenty-five — more like that times two … plus eight or so.”

“You’re going to be fifty-eight?”

“Yup.”

“Aw. You look good. Have a nice evening.”

She winked and walked.

A server overheard our conversation. It was time for Grandpa Philsy to take on more compliment lathering.

“You’re not going to be fifty-eight. I totally thought you were, like, in your late forties.”

“You’re too kind. Have you been drinking what you should be serving?”

“Ha-ha, no. Seriously.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Do you not go out in the sun or something?”

“Right, I’m a vampire. Sorry. I suck.”

“I mean it. No wrinkles?”

“It’s all the surgery. A little Botox here. A cut and lift there. An ear and nose reduction. Soon, I’ll have an addavadgetomy.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. It’s complicated.”

“Wow, I can’t see any scars. You have a good doctor.”

“I’m fucking with you. I have plenty of wrinkles a.k.a. life lessons unlearned. It hurts to bend down. I can’t see shit. And, I can’t remember what fucking day it is.”

“Oh, ha-ha. Well, you look good.”

“Thank you. Here’s your Blue Hawaiian. Now, shoo.”

Of course, people say we look good for our age. What’s the alternative? “Christ, stop smoking and consider sunscreen, you cadaver.” Bring on the white lies. Just speak up, sweetie.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.
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