It’s as if reaching a certain age entitles one to so many degrees of vice.
Forty earns the right to talk about current music trends as “noise” while speaking admiringly of the musical artists in your era that have real talent.
Fifty earns the right to go without make-up and not be considered slovenly.
Sixty qualifies for pretending you can’t hear annoying relatives, and seventy obviously earns a second adolescence, with sexual adventures in unexpected places.
I hope I never reach eighty. I don’t even want to think about what vice is acceptable then.
[This is from the Internet May be we could improve on that.]
Forty earns the right to talk about current music trends as “noise” while speaking admiringly of the musical artists in your era that have real talent.
Fifty earns the right to go without make-up and not be considered slovenly.
Sixty qualifies for pretending you can’t hear annoying relatives, and seventy obviously earns a second adolescence, with sexual adventures in unexpected places.
I hope I never reach eighty. I don’t even want to think about what vice is acceptable then.
[This is from the Internet May be we could improve on that.]