Age is Really Just a Number

When the powers-that-be at Blogger forced me to switch to the new Blogger, they told me that all of my information would stay the same in my profile. That nothing, not a thing, would get lost in translation. Trust us, Gina, they said.

Have you seen my profile?

Rarely do I look up my own profile. Whenever I do happen to see the content of my profile, I am usually just trying to quickly add a movie or a group or some such trivial thing from the editing page.

But a couple of weeks ago, for some reason my curiosity got the better of me, and I clicked over. Perhaps it was the irresistible lure of my tearful Cindy Brady face, or that I had forgotten some of the things I had even put on there and was curious to see exactly how vapid I come off.

After I got over my initial shock of seeing my profile visit total at almost three thousand, (hello, two thousand and nine hundred apparently never came back, was it my deep and abiding love for Monty Python that scared them off?) my eyes wandered over to my age.

Imagine my surprise to find out that I am over two and a half centuries old! I don't feel a day over a century!

Come on now you knew that last one was coming. Who could resist that? You want to laugh, you know you do.

I have no idea how that number got translated, and even more puzzling, why in the world would Blogger accept that number? Are there people blogging as Methuselah, or perhaps one of the Greek gods? Did they cry discrimination when they couldn't assign themselves a sufficiently ancient fake age?

So, I'm totally confused. But what else would you expect from an old geezer like myself?

I think I'll keep it. It makes me seem ever so much more interesting than I really am.