Archives for: January 2009, 21
Getting Old Gracelessly (or Disgracefully?)
When did I start feeling old? Perhaps it was when a twelve-year-old boy who had a crush on me gave me two Enid Blyton books for my eleventh birthday. But that was a smug ‘Enid-Blyton-at-eleven-duh-what-do-you-take-me-for’ sort of feeling. I bristled, but thanked him politely, looked down my nose at him, and it was over between us. For ever.
