Saturday, 9 March 2013
The upside of being seventy
But I'll start with G. G looks amazing for her age, and loves to tell people she's 97. She does it all the time. We all know she's 97, and all hope to look as good as she does if/when we make it. But I'm never going to do that, I thought. Getting old is bad enough, but telling everyone your age? Naaah.
Not for me.
Until last night.
Scene: church choir practice
Characters: New Alto and me
Conversation, as follows:
Me: (not fishing at all at this stage) I'm going to my daughter's fortieth, so I won't be here on Sunday.
New Alto: Gosh! Wow! My goodness! You can't be the mother of someone of forty! You don't look nearly old enough!
Me: (bridling) I'm seventy (thinks: bring it on! I'm loving this!)
New Alto: Gosh! Wow! I can't believe it etc etc
Me (getting into the swing): Yes. And I've got a son of forty-one.
New Alto: Wow! Gosh! etc etc
Me (now really over-egging the pudding): and I've got more sons, of thirty-two and thirty-five.
In the cold light of day, I feel just a tiny bit ashamed. But only a tiny bit. And I have to bear in mind that (a) the lighting wasn't too good and (b) whatever I may or may not look like, at my age, I would have to think twice before buying a kitten...