I'm Old?

I had the unique experience of being asked today by a colleague how old I am. At first I wasn't bothered by this. The truth is, I didn't quite understand the question. The coworker in question is, I believe, Cambodian. And his command of English is not the best. (That's being polite.)
I've been pretty lucky, I guess. I've pretty much taken advantage of every age I've been. I screwed around in my 20s, figured things out in my 30s, and am settling down in my 40s.
I know there are people who don't like the ageing process -- and defy it in any way they can -- but I'm not one of them.
The thing about this colleague is, I had no way of knowing how old he is without asking directly. You see, he's got one of those man-boy builds that, if you put a bag over his head, means he'd pass for 12.

And he's about 5'2" and he dresses like something out of an A&F catalog. Granted, he's got a sprinkling of gray hair... but still.
Anyway, "I'm 44," I told him. Then, thinking it only polite, I asked how old he was. I think he said 40, but again, I can't be sure.
I AM the oldest person in my workplace (a temporary situation I'm hoping -- the work situation -- not that I'm hoping they hire a bunch of seniors) and I tend to get off on that. I like being surrounded by young(er) people. They're interesting.
I just don't feel so great about being singled out for my age.

Eh.

On other work topics... I've mentioned how my mind tends to wander and how at various times a song will get stuck in my head. Today, there were three.
The first: I'm Every Woman by Chaka Khan (a goddess in my book)
The second: Happy Talk from South Pacific (a confluence I believe of my ponderings that some people at work would rather gab/socialize than work and my southeast Asian wanderings after this conversation with aforementioned colleague... shut up -- I am not a racist!).
Finally: I Want Money by the Flying Lizards. Here's a taste.