Now I Know I'm Old

I’m old. There’s no denying it anymore. I now know that being old has nothing to do with going bald, turning grey, having arthritis, or needing a hip replacement.

No, you know you’re old when the barber asks if you’d like your eyebrows trimmed.

Why is it that I can’t do anything to make the hair on the top of my head grow, but I can effortlessly cultivate a crop of speedily growing, rogue eyebrows?