I'm aware that my ripe old age of 53 may be off-putting to some employers, so I always shave the grey out of my beard, craft chunky sideburns and have a skinhead before any interview. It's hipster chic. Or 1970s docker seeing the turn at the club on a Saturday night. Choose the description that works for you. Anyway, these actions may be utterly pointless, but they make me feel less old and boost my confidence. Because I do sometimes lack this.
Sadly, I didn't land the gig, but I felt good following what I thought was a good interview and I felt like I looked OK, too. I was a young and vibrant thruster! I was a go-getter who can cut it with the youth. Go me!
Then the Missus buys me pyjamas for Xmas.
It's true that I have bought jim-jams for her in the past, but I know she hates the cold and these were cute things. Not quite slut wear but certainly not pensioner wear. I also sleep in boxer shorts because I'm reasonably confident that my bowel control is strong enough to ensure I won't casually shit the bed. And, of course, limited nightwear is less cumbersome to remove if I get lucky.
But I fear this spells a major change in the relationship. The Missus now no longer sees me as a sexual partner and the hottie she married. I'm the old bloke she shares a bed with who brings her a cuppa in the morning.
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