The years rattle us

Why are we ashamed of growing older? It’s a shame that we foster and adds only sorrow. The years, both our own and those of friends, bring distress. We’re turned off by anone beyond 50 or 60 and pretend to be other than what we are.

I’ve been the prime deceiver, keeping my age a secret. Since my face isn’t a dead giveaway, people chop off a few years in their estimates. I’ve lived a lie, but in view of this blog, it’s time to open up. LET IT OUT, an inner self shouts. ALL RIGHT! I’ve found the guts to do it.  I’m in my 80s.  So there!

Do readers have the guts to admit theirs?