Some women are secretive about their age and others don’t care who knows how old they are. Some try to fight time with plastic surgery and wrinkle reducers. Some accept laugh lines as a visible sign of a life well spent.

As for me – I thought I didn’t care – until recently when I was telling a group of people I had just met at a party about my trip toHawaiiin 1975. My son, who until this point seemed bored and uninterested suddenly decided to join the conversation and shouted, “How old were you when you went?”

My face turned red from embarrassment and my blouse turned red from spitting out my wine.

My son was too young to realize he asked the wrong question to a lady who was old enough to know better.

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