I'll never tell........

To tell or not….to tell.

I did for a while; I was proud of the fact that I was over 60 and was still a viable, vibrant woman, especially since I learned to dance, putting me in touch with movement and thus,  my body.

I piped up immediately, if someone asked how old I am. The reaction changed, however, as soon as I hit that 6-0 response. No longer did I hear, “What! You don’t look 60!” (I heard that at all ages, right up until this one. At 30, at 40, even at 50. But some key was turned as soon as the big 6-0 carried my birthday cake in, aflame with candles.)

And if a woman happens to be single at 6-0, for whatever reason (and there all kinds of reasons, believe me), heaven help her. Men’s eyes glaze over at the mere mention of a six before ANY number, even the zero. My unfortunate experience with dating sites has proven their point to me: they are for young women.

Not young men, though. Men of all ages, even those with the next digit in THEIR age, have no qualms about filling in that profile page with all kinds of fluff and a photo at least 20 years old (and 20 pounds lighter), knowing all the while that they are looking for a young woman to help them believe their own profile.  Any woman taking their bait who happens to be over 6-0 hears a lot of…… silence. A computer screen is an effective barrier when someone wants to use it that way.

A friend of mine, a woman in her 90s, chided me once for blurting out my age when someone asked. When anyone asked. I thought I could show the world that being a “woman of a certain age” did NOT mean a “shriveled, incontinent, unproductive,  drain on society.” I work out a couple of times a week, I lift more weight than women (and some men) much younger, I work, I dance, I write, I contribute. I am not done yet. Not even close.

But none of that seems to matter. So, I am following my friend’s advice and keeping quiet these days, at least about my age. (I don’t keep quiet about much else, but you already know that, right?)  I can’t unspeak it from all the times I blurted out those digits, but I can hope that people will forget.

Happy birthday to me! And, no, I’m not going to tell you which one it is, either.