I will be seventy-three within a few weeks. Quite impressed by my age, I am reminding myself of its relentless advance as often as I can. In addition, I do the same with everyone I know. In particular, I tell all and sundry that I will be seventy-three in just a few weeks. Quite a number of people do their best to help me along by telling me how youthful I look and how impressed they are by my vitality. Slowly but surely, my next birthday is already behind me in my own mind. My ruse is so successful that I am liable to start exaggerating my age with relish. Which reminds me of my father, who was fond of rounding his years off. At seventy-three, for instance, he would say that he was eighty. In my youth, I was kind of annoyed with this penchant of his, but now I am starting to understand and even appreciate it. It surely makes things easier in the long run. Hey, I will be eighty in just a few years. There!