I went golfing last Friday evening fairly late in the day. When I was done with my round I drove the golf cart up to my 18 year old mid-life crisis vehicle, Li’ Blu, to unload my clubs and other golfing paraphernalia. When I was I done I hopped in the cart and drove around the club house to the collection area for golf carts.
As I approached the drop off zone, another cart was approaching, being driven by a young man of around 6 years of age – hard to tell these days as they all look so young. He was short enough that he was standing with his backside supported by the cart seat. It was the only way he could reach the pedals.
Always the wisenheimer, I asked for his driving license and proof of insurance. The kid said something which I do not remember, but his father, who was trailing the cart, said he was older than he looked.
It was at that point that the licenseless muchacho remarked, “I am 39 years old.”
Why 39? A bit of an odd number, but maybe someone he knew recently had this birthday.
Still the wisenheimer, I responded, “Well if you are 39, I must be 150.”
He then jumped out of the cart and ran back to his mother waiting by their car saying, “That man is 150 years old.”
Obviously my well honed sense of irony (sarcasm?) was lost on this innocent.
It was at this point that the mother waved at me with a big grin on her face, laughing.
Obviously, I am officially old.
I wonder what I will look like when I reach 200.
Just as an aside, up until 4 or so years ago, I always walked the course carrying my bag. My back will not let me do that anymore. I even tried push carts and pull carts, but they hurt my back in a different way. Oh well, a fun gig this getting old is.