If you asked me today, “How old are you?”
My response would be 42. I’ve been answering that same way for the past year.
That makes me a liar.
I was born in September of 1975.
I’m only 41. I’ve spent a whole year as a 42 year old, when I could have been reveling in my 41s.
What an idiot!
So for the next year starting September 7, I’ll be able to honestly tell people, “I’m 42.” No more of lies. No more deceit.
Here’s some news: I’ve been writing again. Almost every day. My morning routine right now is getting up about an hour or two before my wife Tina. I either make a pot of coffee or a single cup of instant coffee, packets that I picked up in France last April. Because everything French tastes better even instant coffee. Ha. Continue reading “I’m going to be 42 for a long time”