Ironman is 41 today. Try not to inundate him with celebratory wishes though, as I’m sure he is currently busy updating his social media age, since it is roughly 7 years overdue. It’s really hard to believe he’s so old. Don’t worry, I can say that because I am a mere three months his cougar-elder. It’s funny how time just rolls along for a comfortable stretch and then one day, all of the sudden, you realize that teenagers, if they took a much deserved break from Snapchatting, would describe you as “old”. Okay, that’s not true. They would text it. But Ironman is no geezer. He does plenty of things to ensure that his age keeps him decades away from dentures and assisted living. For example, he almost never complains about how our garbage men won’t pick up the garbage if the lid is even a centimeter elevated from overfill. He rarely perfects his eye rolling technique when he is behind hipsters at Starbucks. And I’m pretty sure he’s never told Little J to “focus on school” when he said he was going to marry his preschool girlfriend last week. To be honest, there are some great things about his advanced numeric age. Our primary form of communication doesn’t rely on abbreviated words or emoticons. He knows how to fix almost anything from years of mistakes and successes. But mostly, the greatest thing about Ironman’s increasing years is that I am lucky enough to spend them with him. I love you Ironman, sweater vests and all. Happy Birthday.