"Don't annoy Andrew," the little girl next door told her younger brother (she being unaware that I am Don QuiScottie now), "because he is a very old man and he might get grumpy."
"Me?" I demanded, somewhat outraged. "What makes you think I might get grumpy? And what makes you think I'm very old?"
"Well how old are you?" she challenged me.
"I'm 57," I replied, truthfully.
She just furrowed her brow as if trying to work something out, but her little brother started speaking very slowly with, "Fifty... seven... Is that not nearly dead?"
And rather than making me feel grumpy, this made me smile.