Anticipating the Time of My Life

My birthday's coming up in March, and it'll be half a century for me. I've noticed a few white hairs in the cowlick on my forehead. Blonde hair is pretty good at hiding them, but they're there. Of course, I have to put on my reading glasses to see them.

I've always looked forward to being old. Really. A few wrinkles add character, experience brings wisdom, and grownup kids mean more freedom. And with age comes the right to be just a little cranky, or eccentric, or both. Maybe they're the same thing.

Of course, I want to be spry old. Active old. With all my own teeth. What good is the freedom of old age if I can't put it to use? Or eat apples? Or chase errant neighborhood kids with my broom?

What I want, I guess, is the advantages of both youth and experience with none of the disadvantages. Postmenopausal zest. Is that too much to ask?