It seems that Dave likes the later years in a decade, as far as age is concerned, such as 46-the end of 49.
I quite disagree, without making an argument of it. I visualise a decade topographically - starting on the plains, the years rise cheerfully to a plateau before sinking towards the nines. So, as far as I'm concerned, the ages ending in 8 and 9 are the ones not to like. Especially 9. It's like standing with one foot about to drop for a whole year.
I can't say that this is reflected in the events of my life particularly, it's just a feeling. I'm certainly not superstitious about it. I prefer not to pass a decanter of port the wrong way (not bothered about a bottle) but otherwise, I'm fairly free of superstition.
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I had a great uncle who started telling people he was nearly 80 years old--when he was 72. I don't like the birthdays ending in 0 or 5, as it usually means a big increase in health insurance premiums.
I just feel that saying I'm in my late 40's sounds mature without being old.
Dave, you're a man of the cloth, you're not supposed to be lying like a cheap rug.
I agree with you Z, the years ending in 8 and 9 are all geared up to the next decade, which always seems not to live up the expectation and angst preveiously imagined.
Numbers are arbitrary, aren't they, anon. I've taken to putting down the wrong year of birth in those over-inquisitive online forms where you sign up to something where birthdate is irrelevant, but I'm as likely to put myself older as younger than I am.
So, what does being in your our later 50s say about us then, Dave?
I'm sure Dave only likes like an Axminster, Roses.
I am constantly amazed, perpetually perplexed, when I realize that I am in the second half of my forties.
It's amazing how these ten numbers or the decennia form our perspective: The "long 19th century" (Hobsbawm) is 125 years long, the short 20th only 75 years. Of course from a eurocentric perspective.
Dave is a man of the loin cloth.
I don't like walking under ladders. Or snakes.
Snakes hug the ground quite close, Rog. I don't like walking under them either.
You are in your prime, Mago.
My late (very late now actually) grandmother used to say that you can't count age in years. I always thought that was a bit silly, as what else can you count them in? But I think what she meant was that some people are older at seventy than others are at ninety, so perhaps it makes a sort of sense (?)
My late (very late now actually) grandmother used to say that you can't count age in years. I always thought that was a bit silly, as what else can you count them in? But I think what she meant was that some people are older at seventy than others are at ninety, so perhaps it makes a sort of sense (?)
That's true, I think. Also, I didn't start to feel comfortable in my skin until I reached my thirties, but I still am. I was born to be (in a broad range, for you young thirty-somethings) middle-aged - so let's hope I won't feel old when the time comes!
My husband is seven years younger than I in years only. If you don't mind it doesn't matter. I refuse to start down the "getting older" slide. When my husband starts to complain about getting older I tell him that he needn't worry, because he will always be younger than I. So, I credit myself with keeping him young.
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