No, this has little directly to do with the Oscar Wilde classic book.
It's about my spouse and I. My wife is the same age as me (50). But she is the equivalent of Dorian Gray who doesn't age and I'm the portrait which does! It ain't fair.
Jet black hair, youthful skin, still a good figure, she could pass for 30. She has had a merest hint of greying at the temples recently, but it would be undetectable to a casual eye.
Me though...going grey since mid 30s, now totally grey. And hair now getting thinner on top. My weight fluctuates as I go on and off fitness regimes but the general picture is overweight. In summary, I could pass for 60.
Of course spousey enjoys all this. She told me of an almost disguised Freudian slip one of her lady acquaintances made recently. "Saw you walking the pier yesterday with your fath-...husband."
On another occasion I was walking towards our seat with our food tray from cash desk at a self service cafe place. Spouse was still at desk getting condiments. Another lady noticed a wooden walking stick left at the cash desk and chirped up to my wife...."tell that man (me) he left his walking stick".
I console myself that I can still play tennis quite well. Use the bicycle from time to time. A reasonable swimmer too with diving qualification. And like spousey I never smoked. But I look like a bad mixture of Bertie Ahern and Father Jack (from Fr. Ted) and I can do terrifyingly realistic impressions of the latter.
Ah feck it, you're as young as you feel and it's nice to have a spouse 30 years younger.