Some women don't want anyone to know their age. Not my mother. For months now, she's practically been stopping strangers on the street to tell them she's going to be 85 years old on April 8. And if they try to correct her to "85 years young," as many of them do, she corrects them right back and tells them 85 is old. Since no one who tries to convince her otherwise is that age, she speaks with authority on the subject.
This evening, the celebration will include taking her to dinner at the restaurant of her choice. I won't attempt to influence her decision except maybe to note that that new Angus Burger at McDonald's sure looks tempting. In honor of the day, I may even let her Super-Size her fries.
Happy 85, Mrs. Evanier. I hope when I'm that age, I'm as happy about it.