Youth, someone once famously said, is wasted on the young. The older I get, the more I realize it certainly was wasted on me. But there are others who are truly in full bloom only in youth. When they start to get a few wrinkles, er...then middle-age is wasted on them, I suppose. And there are still others, on whom not only was youth not wasted, middle-age is a veritable gala!
All this reflection has been brought about by finding a few choice photos (from years past) of my good friend J. Now in the first few months of our togetherness a decade ago, when I looked at his youthful photos, I would be nearly fuming at the injustice of having missed all the...er, how to put this delicately?...attractiveness that he possessed. Of course he was still rather fetching when I met him, that explained at least part of the attraction, har har.
But now? As time passes I realize he is in the category of those fiends who don't age. They simply improve. And he, the lucky sod, is improving on that. It can scarcely be believed, and yet here I am witnessing it. The wily fox! If only I'd known the treat I was in for, all those years ago. But then I was myself young, and as I can see so plainly now, perfectly witless.
Oh well. Maybe some of his beauty will rub off on me as I grow old. He is mortally afraid of my actually fully ageing, I think, because I've been going on for years now how I'll refuse to do so. I'll be the old lady tottering around in red high heels, fainting at the corner where the firemen eat lunch every Friday, being a regular local menace. Or if all goes according to plan, I will be the oldie haunting the best tango places in all Buenos Aires, and the youngsters will all be calling me 'vieja loca'. Or something even rather less flattering. Muahaaha.