Funny math story . . .

I was just talking on the phone with my daughter, who called to wish me a happy birthday.  Yep, it’s today.

But, it got me to thinking.  I remember an incident back when I was 10, when one of my aunts asked me what age I thought was when a person was “old”.  My answer at the time was 18.

Well, it turns out I have now officially lived 3x that long.  18 x 3 = 54.  So if 18 was old, I’m ancient now.  But, an interesting side note is – I was 18 when I had my left leg operated on for a bone tumor.  Coincidence?  Hmmmm…….

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Getting carded . . .

getting carded in a libraryPersonally, I think she has the right to take whatever she wants to away from the incident – so long as it hurts nobody else.  Everything in life is a matter of our “point of view”.  My wife sent this to me in an email from work – hope you enjoy the laugh!

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s official . . .

I’m guilty. I’m a thief – specifically a cradle robber.

I’ve written before about how my wife can be sitting at work, and someone will come up and ask to speak with a librarian. When she tells them she’s a librarian, they answer her with “No, I mean a REAL librarian.” Because they think she looks like she’s still an undergraduate student. Half of the time, she still gets carded for buying booze, even though she’s closer to 40 than 30.

Not so with me. I can count on ONE HAND the number of times I’ve been carded in my whole life! Yesterday we went back to Joplin (3rd time is a charm, right?) to try to get a set of crystal wine glasses that weren’t broken, chipped, or otherwise less than usable.

Since we were there at lunch time, we stopped at a buffet to eat. After we got our food and sat down, she started laughing. I asked her what was so funny, and she said, “Look at the receipt!”

Items on the receipt – one buffet with drink. One SENIOR buffet with drink, no charge for the drink. Total discount over $2. To qualify for a SENIOR buffet, you usually have to be 55 y/o or greater. I’m 46.

The clerk must have thought I was having lunch with my daughter, or something.

A Taste of the Sureal . . .

Ok, the last time I talked with a US Army person wearing a rank of SFC, I was a Pvt, and decidedly subordinate to him. Also, I was 5’8″ tall and about 135 pounds fully dressed and soaking wet. He was 6’2″ and about 250 pounds – all muscle.

So, fast-forward nearly 25 years, and today a woman walked into my office wearing standard issue BDU’s (battle dress uniform). As I was doing her taxes, we chatted about how long she’d been in the Army, where she’d been stationed, etc. I told her I joined back when Ronnie was President, and she said she did too. It turns out, I enlisted about 6 months before she did.

Which means, she treated me as a peer, not a subordinate. Even more, I’d probably be a SFC (or an officer) if I hadn’t developed a bone tumor 24 years ago and had my whole career trashed by a 3 hour surgery.

I guess I’m not really going anywhere with this, but it seemed strange that I was talking as an equal with a SFC when the last one I knew could reduce me to molten goo under his boots just by looking at me.

Boy, I’m getting old. 😉