THE SEXY SIXTIES

It is considered ungentlemanly to reveal a lady’s age, but in this case, Mister Debonair will make an exception... because in so many ways, this particular lady is ageless.  I speak, of course, of the Missus, AKA She Who Must Be Obeyed, whose personal odometer ticks over another zero in the units column this day.

We have been celebrating this birthday more or less continuously since late June, when we kicked off Birthday Season with a memorable week-long trip to Las Vegas.  Last week we celebrated with a group of our friends here in the Atlanta area, along with the Mistress of Sarcasm, who had traveled down for the occasion - a marathon solo 17-hour drive from her little hamlet in upstate New York.

Today, however, is the Actual Day.

So far, it has been delightful.  A pleasant luncheon at one of the finer local establishments, followed by a walk around the historic district in Roswell, followed by an orgy of television-watching and napping.  Then, sushi!  Life is sweet.

For now, both of us are nominally the same age - for a little over a month, anyway.  And now we’re in the same decade, too.  It’s a bit sobering, on the one hand... but on the other, it is completely amazing how lovely the Missus is without even trying too hard.  She has managed to age like a fine wine, becoming more graceful and mellow with increasing maturity.  (That sure beats aging like a cheese, becoming stinkier and more blue-veined over time.)

I love my Missus.  She really does get more beautiful with every passing year.  She makes me feel like a love-struck twenty-something - just like I was when I met her almost 38 years ago.



Among us Red Sea Pedestrians, it’s traditional to offer the greeting “Ad meah v’esrim” (Hebrew) or “Bis hundert-tzvantzik yohr” (Yiddish), both of which mean “May you live to 120.”  It is, after all, a respectable enough age, the age attained by Moshe Rabeinu - Moses, our teacher - when he ascended Mount Nebo to look across the Jordan at the Promised Land he would never live to enter.  (Me, I always wish people an extra day - “May you live to be 120 years and one day old!” - because who the hell wants to croak on his birthday?)

So is it appropriate to wish someone a Happy Half-Way?  Just askin’.


I guess this kinda gives it away, huh?