“How Come You Never Age?”


I get that question a lot, and the basic subtext is: “You’re so incredibly ancient. Why don’t you look it?”

[This is a good chance to get in another plug for my recent column about how I hate aging. It was all so hilariously observant.]

But back to the blog…

As flattered as I am that people want to know why I don’t look 100, I refuse to summon the energy to give them the honest answer, which is:

“I don’t drink or do drugs, I have great genes, and I’ve been rubbing Vitamin E into my face for decades.”

It’s just too complicated, so instead I rely on that tired old cliche:

“I guess I have a portrait in the attic, har har.”

But if I utter that inanity one more time, my crow’s feet will surely get up and kick me in the eyeballs.

So help me decide between these other options, which are way more trenchant:

“Monkey gland injections, darling!”

“Huh? You must be going blind! See a doctor pronto! Come on, how many fingers?”

“Thanks, but I’m actually 24. I look terrible.”

“I was just going to ask you why you do age!”

“I actually stand on my head and walk backwards all the time. You’re looking at my supple butt!”

“Protein, dearie, lots of protein! And I don’t mean milkshakes.”

No, wait, that last one might be even lamer than the “portrait in the attic” shtick.