I was walking through the neighborhood one day when, from behind a hedge, a dog started barking at me. A woman I couldn’t see quieted it down by saying, “It’s all right. It’s just an old lady.”
“Who are you calling an old lady?” I thought. Then: “Well, I am an old lady. So why does it bother me so much to be called one?”
What I want to hear is, “You’re sixty-five? You look 20 years younger.”
And strangely, I do hear that sometimes. I guess I have my days.