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This is one of those stories you hear over the years that you just have to include for old time’s sake, if nothing else.
Old Tommy Boyd, an elderly retired cop, was fed up looking in the mirror every morning at his heavily lined, baggy eyes and drooping excess skin on his ageing face. So one day, whilst reading an article on cosmetic surgery, he decided to withdraw some of his hard earned savings from his bank account and do something about it.
He rang the number in the advert and requested an initial appointment, to see a specialist consultant regarding some facial surgery.
After the consultation with the cosmetic surgeon and his assurances of what he could do for him, coupled with the promise that he would look much younger afterwards, Tommy decided, ‘What the Hell’! And booked up with the surgeon to go ahead and have it done.
Several weeks later, after the superficial scarring disappeared from his facial surgery, old Tommy – sorry, ‘young’ Tommy – decided it was time to literally face the outside world with his new look.
Dressed to kill and looking very dapper in his best suit, collar and tie, Tommy made his way down the main street, stopping off at the local newsagent’s shop.
‘I’ll have a Daily Record please, Martha’. he said to the female counter assistant.
The counter assistant looked at him as she handed over the paper and said, ‘I’m terribly sorry sir, but do I know you’?
‘Of course you do Martha, it’s me – Tommy Boyd!’ he replied.
‘Good God, Tommy Boyd!’ she remarked. ‘I didn’t recognise you. You look absolutely fantastic in fact, you look about forty years-of- age!’
A very proud Tommy responded, ‘Well I’m actually sixty-seven years old!’
‘That’s incredible, Tommy, you’re looking truly amazing!’ she said.
After some further small talk, Tommy left the newsagent to continue his shopping.
As he walked along past the shops, he stopped off and entered the butcher’s shop.
While standing in a queue, he couldn’t resist tapping the shoulder of the woman in front of him and asking her, ‘Excuse me hen, but what age do you think I am?’
The woman looked Tommy up and down before commenting, ‘Ye’re about forty-five, forty-six’! She replied confidently.
This prompted Tommy to ask the butcher behind the counter, to have a guess.
‘I’d say you’re probably between forty-two and forty-five years of age.’ said the butcher.
Smiling proudly and totally delighted with the responses, Tommy replied, ‘Well ye’re both wrong. I’m actually sixty-seven years old!’
The people in the butcher shop were amazed at his youthful looks and there were several ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ amongst them.
A short time later, after being served, Tommy left the butcher shop and jauntily walked down the road to the nearby bus stop to await the arrival of a bus, to take him into the city centre for the first time in months.
Standing there waiting and completely ecstatic with the response his new look appearance was attracting, Tommy decided to ask the only other person in the bus shelter, an elderly woman, dressed in a tweed coat, rain-mate and with her shopping trolley. ‘Excuse me missus, but do you mind if I ask you a personal question’?
‘Not at all son.’ She replied, agreeing to his request. ‘Ask away.’
‘How old do you think I am?’ he asked.
The elderly woman looked intently at him, pausing for a brief moment, before answering, ‘I’m not really sure son. I’d need to feel yer boaby to be able to tell ye exactly!’ she replied.
‘Feel my boaby? D’you mean my penis?’ responded a surprised Tommy.
‘Aye yer boaby! Penis! Tadger! Nob! Cock-a-doodle-doo! Whitever ye want tae call it.’ Said the old woman. ‘That is if ye have one and ye really want me to guess yer age exactly right!’
Confident he could comply with this unusual request, Tommy agreed, ‘Right hen, you’re on!’
Tommy slipped his trouser zip down and the elderly woman inserted her hand through the opening in his underpants and grabbing hold of his penis, she then fondled and rolled it around in her hand, having a right old grope at it, before taking her hand back out of his trouser opening.
Tommy promptly zipped up his trousers and said, ‘Right, my age!’
‘I’m no’ very sure!’ she said. ‘I’d need to feel yer testes!’
‘My testes’? Tommy enquired. ‘What’s my testes?’
Quick as a flash the elderly woman said, ‘Aye, yer testes! Ye know, yer bollocks! The place where awe you men keep a nursery full of potential screaming weans! Mind you that is if you want me tae guess yer age exactly right!’
Tommy thought for a moment, then relented, ‘Okay, then, have a feel at my testes if you think it will help you guess my age exactly right!’
The elderly woman performed the same procedure, this time grabbing his bollocks and rolling them around in the palm of her hand like the Humphrey Bogart character with stress balls in The Caine Mutiny.
After several minutes, she withdrew her hand.
At this, Tommy zipped up his trousers, after which, he composed himself before asking, ‘Well. What’s your guess then? How old am I?’
After a moment’s pause the elderly woman blurted out with complete confidence.
‘Ye’re exactly sixty-seven years old, ya silly auld bugger!’
Tommy is totally stunned and shocked by this reply.
‘How the hell did you know that?’ he asked her.
‘Dead easy!’ replied the elderly woman. ‘I was in the queue at the butcher’s!’