Life After 60

I was trying to be polite to the online salesman. "It's not what I..I.. ordered," I stuttered in agitation. "But Sir, it's the best brand, very long-lasting and very comfortable," he said in a persuasive voice. "That's not it, it's, it's ....," I tried to interject. "We can send you another one, should you want one," he said pushing his point. "Another one...?" I asked, not liking where this was leading to. "Yes Sir, or a couple or even a dozen," he said persuasively. "A dozen...? " I howl. "You could even order two dozen Sir," he said smoothly. "What would I do with two dozen! .....Two dozen,  for god's sake!," I shriek. "Laying in a nest egg Sir, for the future, Sir," he said. "Are you a banker," I ask confused. "No Sir." "Then why are you speaking of investing?" I ask. "I was merely speaking metap...

He was a banker with round expressive eyes. But, what was remarkable, were his perfectly arched and manicured eyebrows. The eyebrows danced each time he made some point or the other.  All through that bankers ‘meet at which a lot of Englishmen were present I looked awestruck at the callisthenics that his eyebrows were continuing to do. It must have required years of effort and practice each morning after brushing the teeth. I could almost visualise his wife asking him at the breakfast table, “Did you do your eyebrow exercise this morning dear?” “Coo! I did, “he would reply tucking into his ham and eggs which are de rigueur for the breakfasting Englishman. That was my first lesson in bodily speak. There was the one man in office from whom others always kept as polite a distance as possible when he bored down  asking for the latest gossip. He would deliver a resounding pinch every time he made a point. He would seize a portion of his victim’s flesh between ...