Am I aging gracefully, or disgracefully?

I was at a publishing industry trade show in Manhattan today. I met and was talking to two smart, witty, attractive young ladies. If I was not happily married, I would have 'tried something.'

Somehow the topic of age came up. One of my companions guessed that I was 52. The other said 47.

When I revealed that I am really 67, they were amazed.

I am certainly not a prime specimen of American masculinity, but the reactions of these ladies gave me a good ego boost. Actually, when I see pictures of some of my contemporaries, and some of my wife's contemporaries, I think we're doing just fine.

I wonder if I dyed my gray beard brown or black, could I pass for 35? If I shaved it off, could I pass for 17?

Probably not. Oh well.