Yesterday I entered upon my eightieth year.
When I write it like that, I can see what my favourite man means when he says “But the day you turn 80 is just one more day after you weren’t 80 !” when he’s scoffing at my saying I’m scared of that birthday. Birthdays are just .. well, days, right ?
So now that I’m 79 and not looking to the next birthday (well, at least saying that to him) I should be able to shrug my shoulders and say so what ?!
I had a wonderfully enjoyable morning-tea with my second-favourite man; and there’s another morning-tea coming up next week when we’re joined by the absent one, to make up for his not being with us yesterday. I don’t know of anyone in my age-group who gets entertained by two gorgeous and truly intelligent men.
My life with these two in it is full of sunshine (and rain, and cold – it is winter in Melbourne, after all !). I am a singularly lucky old fart. :D