What fuddy duddy?

I had a friend tell me the other day that she was making it her mission to young me up, whatever that means. She said I act too old, and she's going to fix that.  "But I like being old," I told her. "Oh, you can keep being mature and adult. We'll just get rid of the fuddy duddy part."  Wait, what?
What fuddy duddy part? My cardigan sweater with the tissues in the pocket?  My gray hair*?  My cups of hot chamomile tea and 10:00 bedtime?  Maybe there's more, some horrifically geriatric aspect of my personality that I'm not aware of. But if not then I have to ask, why are we getting rid of my fuddy duddy part? I like my fuddy duddy part.  And I appreciate the thought, but I don't want my twenties back. I don't like loud clubs with flashing lights, I don't like late nights, and I don't like uncomfortable and attractive clothing.  I cringe every time I hear some fashion industry person complain about sweatpants and how Americans are getting slovenly picking comfort over looks.  Why not pick comfort? Why MUST fashion be uncomfortable? 
I suppose I'm supposed to dread aging, and fear being old, but I don't.  For one thing, If I'm destined to die at 80 I still have another 45 years left, even if I act 80 now.  Being a fuddy duddy doesn't bring me any closer to death than acting 20 would.  But also, every time I go to a funeral for someone who died in his teens, or twenties, or even thirties, I think about how sad it is that they didn't get to be old. Old is a prize, a goal, something you should want to achieve.  Quite literally, it beats the alternative.



* I was asked recently why I mention my hair so much and I realized that I'm embarrassed by it. Not by the gray, but by the fact that it's half red, half gray. I can't wait for it to grow out long enough to cut off the dye and be done with it, but until then I'm embarrassed by my tri-color head.