Me and Martina

"Martina, she's about your age, right?"

There I was, sitting in the car, minding my own business. Actually, I was doing better than minding my own business. I had gone to the US Open. I follow the sport a bit. I don't raspberry the Russian babe players. I try to remember faces and learn the play. Then bam, out of nowhere Nuclear 1 put me out to pasture with the dinosaurs, stuck me with the seniors. I felt like an innocent bystander struck by a runaway Hummer.

I sat there thinking, "What? She has to be 55 by now. Maybe 60. Do I look as old as she? You are so dead. It's going to be at least 2 hours before I forget this."

Then I run to the Google and discover she is only a wee bit older than I.

I gotta stay out of the sun.