I read somewhere that when we become adults, our inner age settles at 25 years. That's the age we feel we are in our heart of hearts, in spite of what the mirror tells us.
That would explain a lot. It would tell us why women of a certain age continue to wear short shorts. It would account for the fact that a 70 plus Hugh Hefner type feels he is still romantically attractive to a twenty year old woman. And it would explain the endless reunion tours of rock stars.
It would also account for some of the bumps and bruises I encounter daily. No wonder I land on my butt trying to take the stairs two at a time. It's an activity any 25 year old would handle easily. And it's not my fault I approach cardiac arrest trying to complete a walkathon. What 25 year old wouldn't try to walk 62km in one day? And falling flat on my face trying to clear a doggie-gate? My inner self has a lot to answer for.
That would explain a lot. It would tell us why women of a certain age continue to wear short shorts. It would account for the fact that a 70 plus Hugh Hefner type feels he is still romantically attractive to a twenty year old woman. And it would explain the endless reunion tours of rock stars.
It would also account for some of the bumps and bruises I encounter daily. No wonder I land on my butt trying to take the stairs two at a time. It's an activity any 25 year old would handle easily. And it's not my fault I approach cardiac arrest trying to complete a walkathon. What 25 year old wouldn't try to walk 62km in one day? And falling flat on my face trying to clear a doggie-gate? My inner self has a lot to answer for.
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