“I’m having a birthday this week,” I divulged to my young granddaughter. “Do you know how old I’m going to be?”
She paused before admitting, “No.”
“Six,” I said. It was kinda true. I was only off by one digit.
The Worm gazed intently at me, eyeing me up and down. I saw doubt creep in and I could tell something just didn’t sit right with that piece of information I’d given her. I watched her process the data, weighing what I’d said against the wisdom of her five years.
“No, you’re not, Grandma,” she blurted out, then added, making sure to pad my number with what she determined to be a substantial amount of years. “Maybe you’re sixteen.”
That sounds about right. Except for the knees.
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I hope it is a wonderful day!
HBD
I’ll buy sixteen . . . .that was a good year. I hope you enjoyed your special day.
I’m thirty quite often ~ until I look in the mirror. Shocking!
Hope your birthday was a ‘grand’ one despite the knees.