So scared of growing old, I'm only good at being young

I’m not sure how it works but for some reason, as I grow older, my father seems to be getting younger. We were out shopping for trousers the other evening when the salesman innocently asked my father if I was his younger brother. When told that, no, I was actually a son, the salesman thought I was kidding. Of course, Abbu was delighted – who wouldn’t be? – and of course I knew it was all an act to make us buy more pant but the remark didn’t exactly warm the cockles of my heart. In fact, the delicious chocolate-colored beauties in front of me instantly took on the color of stale coffee grounds. Who wants to buy a pair of trousers that look like they’ve been percolating for weeks in a fisherman’s boot?