So there I was, years ago, leaning on a lamppost waiting for a bus on 2nd and Wisconsin when a tiny, elderly couple slowly approached across the street. When they arrived at the corner the traffic light changed and, still slowly toddling along arm in arm, they entered the crosswalk heading west. The woman suddenly and impulsively broke away from her husband and dashed diagonally across Wisconsin Avenue against traffic. She apparently had some letters she wanted to post in a mailbox she’d just spotted across the street. To the sound of screeching tires and honking horns the little old man said:
“Look! Where is she going? She’s gonna get killed!“
Nearing, he looked up at me, shook his head, and wryly told me:
“The first sixty years are the hardest.”
This is yet another true story from The Twentieth Man.
Admittedly, I’d heard the expression before, but never applied in so timely a fashion.