everyone seems to think that the fact of the inexorable passage of time etc etc ought to be downplayed now that we're all entering our late twenties (twilight twenties, says cindy) but for some reason, i rather look forward to telling unsuitable young men i'm old enough to be their mother (pityingly, or with a tinkling laugh, or whatever, you know.) but that is sheer wishful thinking on my part, because beautiful young men never come my way anyway, so i can't fend them off (but tactfully). what a waste of old age.