Lately, I’ve been feeling a little smug about how well I’m dealing with the aging process. My encroaching wrinkles give me character. I embrace my faulty memory. And my crotchety, do-it-my-way-or-not-at-all attitude has a certain charm. Aging and I have become buddies.
Then, the other day, I decided to wear a thong. Read more →
Recently, a twentysomething girl on an airplane called me “Ma’am.”
I was on my way to Chicago for a reunion with a wonderful group of women who dubbed themselves the Dowagers years ago in graduate school, when they were far from dowagers. I was more of a dowager than they were. I was one of the oldest in our program, though at the time I was only in my thirties.
Still, no one called me “Ma’am” back then. Read more →