As I dip my toes into middle age, I am surprised to find myself feeling so zen at conforming to many generalizations on aging. For example, I can now withstand the near-boiling temperatures of onsen better than ever, even if that means I emerge the color of a well-cooked cephalopod.

Fortunately, my growing enthusiasm for dad jokes also served as culinary inspiration in this case. Would tako (octopus) do as well after a long, hot bath as I seem to?

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