Old Age

I agree. Nobody said I was a woman. You tied the old age to women at 40, if I were a woman. Which I am not.

The logical construct which you are perhaps not familiar with, and which I invoked via your conditional statement, has the following syntax, and the following meaning attached to the syntax:

“if (condition) then (predicate).”

This structure implies, that if the condition is true, then the predicate will happen. If the condition is false, the predicate won’t happen.

(your a woman) was addressed to me. Therefore it’s equivalent to (-1- is a woman). It is not a statement of fact. It was used as a condition.

“If (-1- is a woman) then (women are old at 40)”.

Now watch:

(In effect, -1- is NOT a woman), therefore (women are not old at 40).

Here, your condition was false, and therefore your predicate did not happen.

I really don’t know how else or how better to explain this logical construct to you.


Please believe me I am not contradicting you. You said a conditional, and I never stepped outside the limit of your condition. I agreed with you the whole way, even when you said “no one said your a woman.”

We are always told to help out the elderly people. So, if you see a woman in her forties or fifties, would you consider her an elderly lady? Would you help her cross the street? Would you carry her groceries to her car for her?

I’ve never heard of this helping elderly people thing.

You’re from the South, you guys still have proper manners, like saying ‘ma’am’ when talking to a woman.

I would. Especially if these 40-42 year-old dowagers and old crownies promised some sexual favours in return.

I’m turning sixty-five in two years. I can hardly wait for all the sex I can handle, once these young women (39 and under) start to help me out cussing the street and pushing my car to the nearest gas station.

Have you been to Birmingham? It’s a relatively hostile place.

“Respect thine elders, lest you not reach a long life in this world.”

Also, boy scouts and stuff teach some similar values.

Nah, I think it was somewhere in Georgia.

Yeah Birmingham isn’t really a place you go to find people with good manners.

When I was in college I had one of those apps where you find hos and what not. And I put in my description that good manners were a must. I was bombarded by a bunch of hostile messages from women who had bad manners. Just went ahead and deleted the app.

“In Burningham they shot the gov’nr. Oo-oo-oo. We all did what we could do.” – Sweet Home, Alabama, by that band.

I think it, “love the governor”. He was racist. George Wallace.

You may be thinking of the sherrif. Eric Clapton, and Bob Marley both shot him, but that wasn’t in Birmingham.

In America, the wrong guy gets shot always. Everyone knows how to handle a gun, but only the value-lost idiots will pull the trigger in critical conditions.

Kind of a broad statement there. Like the kind of thing that could mean anything.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_age

And Middle Age:

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle_age

Kind of a narrow-minded statement there. Like the kind a person with no original thought and lots of bitterness about the awareness of his own lacking would make.

Pandora, I font think good manners are indicated merely by calling women by honorific sexual titles, that sounds chauvinistic and demeaning actually to expect men to say that. In the South, we address women as bitches, unless they are very sexy, in which case they are a lady.

And the expectation we hold the door is out. I can’t help I move quicker through the rain, had you kept up, you could of entered right behind me woman, but because you move so slow, looking for your purse, I’m bolting. I’m not getting wetter than I need to be. You can open the door, once you get here. Just because I’m behind it doesn’t mean I gotta open it, I’m too busy drying off and looking at you run soaked. Shouldn’t of worn heels bitch.

Modern manners.

Your paying for this date, right? Don’t worry, I got the tip.

I think you must know me pretty well because you nailed it man. That’s totally me.

Old age is the return to childhood with more knowledge, often too much, yet never enough.

My daughter tells me that I have a very young-baby soul, while claiming to have an old soul herself. I don’t know, but I fear that is in many ways she is right.

Life stems from innocently reaching for what cannot be reached and endlessly spawning the effort. Death stems from the realization that it cannot be reached and spawning the depression of it.

The neither young nor old are in between, as close to accomplishing as life can muster.