The compliments I received from the gentleman this morning as I walked the circuit at the park were perplexing. If I were 20 years younger, I would say he was flirting. But given my age and my present state of physical fitness, I have either crossed the line of age where a walking stick to protect me from vermin is viewed as a cane and my white hair, rather than a decision for a life with fewer chemicals is viewed as the latest nursing home fashion, or he was just a genuinely friendly gentleman who sees a white head as an ageless beauty.
Or . . . he could be a sexual predator or an axe murderer, which in either case requires that I bring a bigger stick.