My brother-in-law is turning some age older than 55. He looks great and is handsome, charming and lively — a good catch.

The question is: when did I start thinking that some guy with ever-so-slightly thinning gray hair is a rock star? I guess one could also ask how the septuagenarian Mick Jagger keeps rock star status. My brother-in-law is way cuter: no one would ever think he had the blood sucked out of him and then re-infused with formaldehyde so he could look like the walking dead like Mick Jagger. But there I go, digressing again.

My point is (and — SURPRISE — I have one) that we look decrepit to 20-somethings, but who cares? As long as we look at our contemporaries and think we are looking good, isn’t that what matters?

I am starting to understand my mother’s saying she thought of herself as 35, even when she was 70 and she thought of Dad as 42 even when he was 77. The point is that mild cataracts perform an essential social function necessary for the survival of the species.