The Secret of Getting Older

A while back, when my sweet daddy turned 90, I begged him to tell me the secret of getting older. As usual, his answer was short and demanded a rim shot. The secret of getting older? "Keep having birthdays." I don't know about you, because you never call, you never write, but I think his wise strategy makes total sense, until the birthdays run out, and wherever you go, there you are. Still, the accumulation of birthday candles is just one component. Some make it to 90 and beyond, some don't. Why?

Yesterday, I decided to pursue the topic of aging with the gorgeous Twila, one of my mother's dearest friends. They met for lunch, regularly -- one time, both adorned in shocking hot pink outfits. And it wasn't planned. When the waiter asked if they'd like to order a Pink Lady, they got hysterical. They loved to laugh together, and ever since my sweet mommy went off to the Big Beauty Shop in the sky 17 years ago, Twila and I have been celebrating our birthdays and laughing our butts off. It's important to note that I still have a sizable butt while Twila's is practically non-existent, so clearly, we're not related, although given her penchant for brutal honesty, I could've sworn there was a genetic connection. Anyway, this birthday marks a big one for Twila, but I know she'd take me out of her will if I revealed which big one. Oh, wait, I'm not in her will. Let's just say she looks a lot younger than she really is, and after all these wonderful lunches we've shared, I finally asked, "What's the secret of getting older?" Without missing a beat, Twila said, "Lie."