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“Mother, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.” Snapped my beautiful but impatient daughter when I picked up my ringing telephone.

“Well Dear, I’ve been a tad busy lately. I just this minute got home from shopping and I have to leave for my job right away. You know about my CPR class…my hour at the gym…. my computer class…” I explained; slightly irritated.

“Never mind, Mom. I don’t want your whole schedule… though I’m not sure all this running around is good for a woman of your age.” My child sighed.

“What is that crack supposed to mean? Just how old do you think I am?” I asked coldly.

“I know how old you are, Mother. I dug your birth certificate up after you buried it that time…remember?” She replied.

“Now, Dear…I explained to you that someone wrote down the wrong year on it. I don’t know why they never corrected it.” I babbled.

“Probably ‘cause no one ever invented an eraser for a birth certificate that was issued in the Stone Age.” My lovely but bratty kid snickered.

“I am not old!” I howled at her.

“Are you serious, Mom? If you are I think it’s time we had a little talk about the facts of life.” My daughter sounded serious.

“Another sex talk, Dear?” I asked eagerly.

“No Mom, I explained all of that to you last year.” She said impatiently.

“Well,okay..What is this one going to be about?” I asked in some disappointment. Her last talk had left me with some unanswered questions. I hadn’t really bought into her line that kissing a man would cause a big scarlet “A” to be burned into my forehead…well, not entirely.

“This one is about the signs of old age. I want you to answer these questions honestly. Are you where you can see yourself in a mirror?”

“Aren’t I always.” I preened at my dim reflection in the mirror.

“Yes; but this time I want you to have a light on and be wearing your glasses so you can see yourself clearly.” Ordered my sweet but spoilsport daughter. Reluctantly I complied.

“Now one of the earliest signs of old age is gray hair….” She began.

“That lets me out! My hair is naturally golden blonde!” I crowed triumphantly.

“I’m not interested in what it says on the bottle you use, Mother. What color are your roots?” My beautiful but evil child demanded.

“Did roots yesterday. Too short to check.” I said succinctly.

“Okay…I’ll have to give you that one. How about the crows feet around your eyes and mouth?” The girl asked.

“Those aren’t crows feet! They are laugh lines!” I howled in outrage.

“Laugh lines? Holy cow, Mom, nothing is that funny!” Snickered the brat I had given birth to.

“Is there anything else, Dear? I have to use the bathroom and sometimes it takes me a while…”

“That covers my next point. Old folks are always preoccupied with how their bowels and kidneys are working.” Interrupted my beloved but tiresome daughter.

“No problem there, Dear. I just said that as an excused to get off the phone with you.” I said airily, crossing my legs.

“The real clincher is your lack of love life….” My daughter began; but it was my turn to interrupt.

“I’m afraid that dog won’t hunt, Dear. I’m out chasing men just as much as I ever was. I just don’t tell you about it.” I said in triumph.

“I know about it, Mom. I just don’t care ‘cause now you are too old to catch them.” My rotten kid said smugly.

I listened to her heartless giggle for a moment; then said sadly. “Maybe you are right about me getting old, Dear. Are there any other signs I need to watch out for?”

“Oh Lots!” My child said happily. “The next one is that old folks start to forget stuff…”

Her voice was cut off as I hung up the phone. OOPS! I must have forgotten that we were still talking…oh well, that’s how it goes with us old folks.

THE END