Wait till you’re in your soon-to-bid-farewell-to-thirties, and a young man, thick moustache and six pack and good looks and all, going out to work in the morning, says Good Morning Auntie. (Or Uncle, as the case may be.)
Your covert ogle frozen in mid-act, you barely manage to blink and croak, “Hi”.
I am just saying. Things could be worse.