On the flag football sidelines last week, a sweet kindergartener began a never-ending conversation with me. Truly, she is a doll. She could just talk the ears off a billy goat. And, if she rendered one deaf, she'd look for the next goat in the pen and start again.
I'm positive her teacher has thought of creative ways to use duct tape to shut her the heck up. And, if she hasn't, she's a first year teacher FOR SURE.
She was prattling on about something or other and stopped mid-sentence, looked at me very seriously, and said "How old are you?"
Now, I'm not one of those people whose neurons fire quickly enough to spit out pithy comebacks in the blink of an eye. I'm in the catagory of people who, five minutes later, over a glass of tea, verbally take that sucker DOWN. Not quite the same effect.
So, instead of deflecting the question, I just said "43." She didn't blink.
Maybe she thought I was young? It was probably the new exfoliating gel I was using on my face, I reasoned. Yes, 43 IS the new 33! Man, that's awesome--I'm TIMELESS!
Rather quickly, she pointed to Mike and said, "How old is he?"
Never one to worry that a man cares about his age, I belted out "39."
And my darling, intelligent, conversationally long-winded, five-year-old friend said "He's OLD!" Complete with a face scrunch.
Dang. Foiled by a munchkin.
When I relayed this precious story to her Mom, she observed that her daughter probably didn't know much about counting into the 40's. But, the 30's, well, they had COVERED those.
I guess 43 is the new 46.
No comments:
Post a Comment