Indirectly being called old

There is something about ageing. Some people embrace it, some really don’t. I think I’m somewhere in the middle.

I’m denying age by way of pretending I can still party all night long and ride down hill in a shopping trolley after a few too many at the pub. I’m also kidding myself that I can put away that block of chocolate I just ate and think it wont matter.

Then on the other hand I’m completely looking forward to all the things I dreamt of when I was wanting to grow up: children, a home, a fancy car and holidays whenever I want. I also realise that neither of those options of growing old is realistic.

I know the days go quicker. I know I get tired more often. I know I like my early mornings. And I know people now call me “Sir”. I hate, no I despise being called sir. And that is the sole reason I’m not a fan of growing old. Well that was at least until I was called “hun” by who can only be described as, pubescent.

I can only assume this is for women what “mate” is to men. And I feel a little connection to the lovely old lady behind the counter in a shop or bar. She’s earned that respect and connection. But damned if I’ll let someone younger call me “hun”.

Don’t get me wrong I was brought up with values and manners and all that. So I understand that by appearance I would now be classed as an “old guy”, in turn should be called “Sir”. I mean I remember thinking anyone at least 5 years or older than me when I was in high school was old. Let alone someone my parent’s age.

But I challenge those that think it’s cute or fun to call people “hun” or “sir” that aren’t at least Sir Michael Cane’s age, to think about how they might feel indirectly being called old.

There should be an unwritten rule to say anyone over or nearing the age of retirement can call someone “hun”. And anyone over or knocking on the door of retirement can be called “Sir”.

Even though I’m now ticking the next box related to my age group, I am by no means knocking on any door of retirement. As such, I don’t want to be reminded of the box I just ticked by way of calling me “hun”.

But I’m not completely against the idea of calling me Sir. Let’s be honest one day I’ll be Sir Jason Cook for my services to the country in being an old grumpy fart.