9/29/1999

Dear Ricky,

I'm not sure how to tell you this, but... I've heard some people are so ugly 
that they could break a mirror by just looking in it.  Well, the email you sent 
me with the RICKPIC.DOC attachment broke three email services before I 
found one that could open the document.

…And what a picture.  You're either living too easy a life, or you made a 
pact with the devil, or you're touching up everything, or you've got the Dick 
Clark "never ages" syndrome.  
YOU HAVEN'T CHANGED!!!

Nina was like that.  I used to tell her that I was her "Portrait of Dorian 
Grey".  Do you know the story?  A young man has his portrait painted then 
makes a pact with the devil, so that he could live a life of excess but his 
looks would never change - just the portrait changed.  Well, although Nina 
didn't exactly live a life of excess, she was 14 years older than me.  But as 
the years went by, our age difference not only became less apparent, people 
presumed I was older then her.  

Two of our favorite stories along these lines were…

…Once we were at a restaurant that offered a 10% senior citizen discount to 
anyone over 65, but the menu clearly stated that you'd have to ask for the 
discount and present evidence of your age.  When the bill came, they had 
already given me the discount – and never asked for proof of my age.  I was 
50 years old at the time.  It's probably, my premature gray hair, of course.  It 
used to come in handy playing basketball.  No one ever expected that "the 
old man" could run the court or jump so high.

…The other event happened shortly after Nina and I got married.  We were 
living in Philadelphia, but our marriage had been quite the topic for gossip 
among my mother's friends in Hazleton.  Of course, Mom had fueled most of the 
conversation, focusing her attention on her young son (24) marrying this old 
widow lady (38) with five grown children.
     One day Nina and I came to Hazleton to visit with my folks.  It was a 
nice summer day, so Nina was wearing shorts and had her hair up in pigtails.  
Mom wasn't home, so I went to the shop were she worked.  Larry's parents ran 
a fabric store called the "G&K" on Wyoming Street.  Well, Mom wasn't at the 
store either.  "She's at one of the other stores on the block," her fellow 
employees told me, as they maneuvered to get a peek at Nina.  So, we went up 
and down the block looking for Mom.  I stuck my head in each shop where they 
knew me and asked if they'd seen Mom recently.  Nina tagged along, but I didn't 
bother to introduce her.  I was simply trying to quickly locate my mother.
     Eventually, we caught up with her and visited and went back to Philly 
later that evening – nothing particularly eventful.
     However, Mom told me the next day her friends on Wyoming Street all 
stopped by to say, "We saw your son yesterday.  He stopped in our shop 
looking for you, and he had his step-daughter with him."  Poor Mom was 
stuck having to explain, "that wasn't his daughter, that was his wife."