The calendar year never errs. It
registers me at 85. And it's true I now
bear a cap of silvery hair, my face is
creased where it never was before
and though I'm still quick not quite
as I was. Sometimes when I look in
the mirror I'm surprised by my mother's
presence. Mostly, though I feel young
and why shouldn't I? Like Goldilocks
not too old, not too young. Except that
is when I'm out in public and society
informs me by the subtlest of whispers
that I've graduated to elderly status and
then Goldilocks exits leaving me with
the impression I've suddenly become old.
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