Some hobbies just aren't worth the trouble. I used to lie awake in bed at night when I was sixteen years old worrying about the body on my '32 Ford rusting. Well, duh. It's metal. It's gonna rust.
At some point asymmetry, rust and crooked lines became a big part of my ideal of beauty. I can't help but notice that if some art director for a snooty retail company wants to really pull out the stops, he finds cracked marble floors, peeling paint on crumbling stucco and well worn Persian rugs to show off the company's wares.
Maybe it's just a natural part of the aging process. Who cares. I don't stand so straight myself. Tell the folks that you love how you feel. Love some more while you're at it.