Let me start this morning by stating that I realize I'm getting older. I'm 47 now, not exactly a spring chicken, but still a few decades removed from the Old Editor's Home.

I've never been someone who worries a lot about age. I subscribe to Bill Cosby's philosophy: Age ain't nothing but a number.

They say the "oh" birthdays, those that end in a zero, are supposed to be particularly hard. But 30 came and went without a whimper. I survived 40 with no ill effects. And I suspect that unless something significant happens in the next three years, I'll make it through 50 unscathed.

But I am getting frustrated with all the folks who seemingly want to remind me that I'm getting older.

It's bad enough the grief I get from our reporting corps, many of whom are in their early 20s. Talented though they are, they look at me quizzically when I mention a TV show or actor that was popular 20 years before they were born.

A few years ago, my optometrist had the audacity to tell me I need bifocals. I have since switched optometrists.

And now, total strangers are getting into the act. Over the past several months, I have received mail from local businesses trying to sell me a hearing aid.

The letter usually contains photographs of a man who is easily in his 80s, and the note from the owner says I'll "never know the wonderful sounds" I'm missing unless I take advantage of his special offer.

I kid you not, I've gotten a dozen of these letters since the spring. Why do they think I'm losing my hearing? Do they know something I don't?

Perhaps it's a mass mailing that's going to everyone in Gainesville. But that doesn't seem to a very cost-effective way to getting the word out.

Perhaps there's an epidemic of hearing loss in town that we need to get a reporter looking into. But none of my friends have told me about any hearing problems they are having. I have a few friends who don't listen to me, but I don't think that has anything to do with hearing loss.

Perhaps there's a master database out there and when you reach a certain age, you are classified as "old" so you start getting hearing-aid solicitations. I know the AARP sends you a membership package when you turn 50, but I'm a few years away from that little gift.

For the record, I don't need a hearing aid. Glory, the black and white springer spaniel who lives at my house, is going deaf. But I'm not, and I don't plan on getting a hearing aid for the dog.

I will freely admit to getting older, but not being "old." I have a friend who is about my age, and he won't even admit to being middle-aged.

"I plan on living to be at least 120, so middle age is still more than a decade off," he insists.

To be sure, there are signs I'm advancing past my youth. There are the bifocals, of course. Then there's the fact that my hairline is not so much receding as it's in full retreat. I prefer to say that I'm not bald. I just have a really wide part.

What hair remains has turned gray.

It's particularly frustrating to know that I can't grow hair on my head, but I can grow it in my ears and my nose.

But I don't need a hearing aid. I don't appreciate being solicited for one. And they can send me as many letters as they want. They are all going into the trash. I'll know when the time comes for a hearing aid, and I'll get in touch with them, not the other way around.

In the meantime, I'm just going to keep chanting that mantra over and over: "Age ain't nothing but a number."

Mitch Clarke is executive editor of The Times. His column appears Sundays. Read previous columns at gainesvilletimes.com/mitch. Follow him on Twitter @MitchTimes.