The other day at Sam’s Club, I was in line waiting to check out when the lady in front of me who had turned and smiled before, turned again and asked, “How old are you?” When I told her, she smiled and said “Well you don’t look it!” I then asked her age and she was just 5 years younger than me and she didn’t look it either.
Funny, it’s been a long time since someone asked my age. When I was small–-years ago–-adults used to ask my age and I was glad to hold up fingers, but ready to get older faster. I remember desperately wanting to be 16 so I could drive legally.
I don’t remember any significant age after that except perhaps the age I was when I had accumulated enough years at S&C Electric Company to retire–with benefits. Then I passed the age when my father died and a year from now I’ll be the age when my mother died.
I remember my age when I first sort of spotted my husband. I was sure he was younger than me and I was thrilled when I found out he was five years older, but looked much younger, Later my gentleman friend Jack was just a few months older than me, and that was fine.
And now? At my nail salon, the young man who did my nails Wednesday looked at me and called me “mama.” Clearly I am not a teenager, and “mama” can cover lots of ages.
I guess the only age that will matter going forward will be my age when I write my last words and say farewell. I’m rather proud of my age now. I see obituaries of much younger folks dying and because I have some friends with whom I can see shows, have meals and laugh, and because my two dogs think I’m great, I’m glad I’m still here.
I am cleaning my house more–-I keep thinking about a sudden passing with people coming to the house and seeing messes–-in drawers and closets. I’ve never been this neat in my whole life.
And though I know my age and have a rather limited future, I can still order from QVC and HSN. I have more clothes than I need, but I still want to shop–and spend.
How old am I? Sitting in front of the TV with my remote in-hand looking at potential new clothes and reaching for the telephone, I am clearly–old enough to know better.
Yes, indeed! You don’t look your age, Diane. You’ve always looked younger than your age! You certainly have good genes. I’m five years younger but I may look older. You’ve certainly been drinking from the fountain of youth. I think it’s also because you’ve led quite an active life; both physically and mentally. You are a great model for living gracefully. Thank you for your inspiring article.
Some people feel offended when being asked about their age and I’m happy to know that you are not offended when asked. You do not look your age and as We grow older that question is not relevant. I’m happy when someone asks my age as I’m not ashamed of being old as I have lived a good life and thank God I’m still here
Exceptional post today. You’ve found the perfect way to deal with aging.
Well done. You speak for many others in our age group.