"Why don't you just say 35?" that helpful man came back.
"Because," the words rushed through my teeth," once our kids begin to suspect I'm over 30, they won't trust me anymore."
"Actually, marking the mid-point of your third decade shouldn't bother you at all," I tried telling the bathroom mirror long after my spouse tried to console me with the following suggestions:
"Why don't we just rent a billboard with a neon disclaimer to your age?
"Better yet, just take a cue from your friends. Not one of them admits to being a day past 29. Three years from now, you can all sit around at your twentieth high school reunion reminiscing about how great it was to graduate at the tender age of 9.
"And what about your relatives? Even Grandma, whose mind is as sharp as nippy cheese, becomes a tad forgetful when it comes to counting birthdays. Why you've been older than your own granny for the past 6 years!
"So what if the kids chip in to buy you a gold-handled walking stick, and the delivery boy begins putting the paper on your porch to save you steps?
"Why should you give a darn if your daughter borrows your designer jeans saying, 'at your age, Mom, polyester is more appropriate.'
"And who cares if the supermarket bag boy asks you what it was like in the days before canned goods?
"And aren't you lucky when all the Cub Scouts in town keep fighting over who's going to help you cross the street?
"After all you're only as old as you feel, which at last count was exactly 12,483 days!"
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| Today this baby turned 35. What was I thinking when I thought 35 was over the hill? |
