Another Birthday for Moi

Here we go again -- yet another birthday.  No need to regale me with the usual platitudes:  consider the alternative (yes, I could be residing in an urn on the family mantel),  age is just a number (but does the number have to be so high), you look good for your age (I'm one wrinkle away from being mistaken for a pleated skirt). 

You know what I really hate?  When someone introduces an elderly person as "95 years young".  The person is five years shy of making it to Willard Scott's list of centenarians. There's not a microscopic element of youth in someone that old so please stop trying to be cute.

And since I'm ranting -- stop calling me "young lady".  In the restaurant --- and what will you have, young lady?  In the shop -- how can I help you young lady?   Is that supposed to be a complement you condescending twit?  I waved tata to "young lady" during the Reagan administration.

As you can tell, I'm not handling this ageing business well.  However, large quantities of chocolate cake -- the antidote for all life's problems -- should calm me down.  Just make sure it has only ONE candle.