My kids seem obsessed with knowing a person’s age. Somehow, to them, it connotes where the person fits in the world.
Dad, how old is the Naked Cowboy?
Fifteen. [That’s my stock answer when it’s clear there is absolutely no reason I should know the person’s age.]
Yeah, right. Anyway, I don’t think he looks that old. [Which has come to mean relative to my wife and I.]