>When I was in India, I had a very nice conversation with the bus driver's helper on hot afternoon when I was supposed to be shopping for expensive rugs but instead sat outside in a shady corner and ate my granola bar lunch. Malikit asked me how old I was. For no reason, I started to answer that I am 20-whatever. I realized as I was saying it that I was not in my twenties, and corrected myself, saying I was 31. I'm sure he thought I was a nut job. (Well, he's not wrong about that, but that's not the point.)

Last night while Husband and I had pierogies with friends, I told one of them that by age 32, I already became a dried up prune.

"Thank goodness you are only 31, then," Husband responded.

"Oh yeah," I said, a bit mystified that I yet again forgot my age.

It's funny how memory "works," and a mite frightening, too.

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