Don’t you hate when someone asks you to guess how old she is? In my head I’m thinking “I don’t know. Eighty, eighty-five? You had 7 kids. And it shows.” My filter then engages and I give my best lowball guess.
When someone asks me how old I am and I tell them that I turned fifty a few months back, I usually get a “No way! I would have said you are _____!”. That makes me happy. Except when they fill in the blank with a stupid number like 45. Because if you are going to tell me that I don’t look my age, don’t tell me I look my age minus five years. That’s a back-handed compliment. It’s similar to when you say you like my haircut and then tell me you had the same style - in 1987. Nice, real nice. And stop staring at my argyle sweater.
Please remember that fifty is the new forty, forty is the new thirty, thirty is the new twenty. And if you are ten, you have not actually been born yet so stop whining about everything. You’ll get your chance soon enough.