how does something become a legend?

Or more like it, how does something become old?

When does something become old?

How many chinks, dents, rust spots, age spots?

We just got our new vanity,  medicine cabinet, and  floor installed in our bathroom.

I am very happy with the look and the feel, even though the husband realizes that he can’t bend over to spit after brushing his teeth very effectively.

(Is that okay to say? Well, I already did.)

I can.  I guess a few inches does make a difference.  I guess our tall guests will be more comfortable in the other bathroom, where they usually stay, anyway.

But here is what prompted this episode of “I can’t recall when I realized that”:  as I was thinking about cleaning up the sink and floor and making sure they stay spotless, I simultaneously thought of how at some point very soon, I will not think of doing so.  I do not bother cleaning my grates on my almost-2-year old oven as soon as I spill something–after Shabbat is good enough.  Not that I cook that much during the week, anyway.

But objects of all kinds are allowed to go old.  And I catch glimpses of myself in the the reflection in the mirror,  or look at the photos that people catch of me (because I don’t take them of myself usually), and

well…

I am not the same.  Would I want to be?

Well…

Short telomeres or long, I’m not sure.  Ironically, after a visit with my father, I sometimes feel old.  Not because he’s old, but because he’s so young.  I realize I take after my mother in basic body things (not my face necessarily), and that didn’t go so well.

And then there’s the husband.  When people see him after a long time, they inevitably comment about how good he looks.  He’s one of the people the scientists are talking about.  Plus he has an aversion to being fat.  He’ll say it’s really that he would want to eat, but he can’t because he has an old man’s stomach and he can’t stomach the pills.

Nevertheless!

He looks good.

And so, in comparison, even if I didn’t look so terrible, I look not as good.

I’m the portrait; he’s Dorian Gray.

Okay, I exaggerate, but still…

So I think I’ll go for the legend thing.

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