It’s always some super chic 20-something who says, “I love your bag,” or “That’s some fine looking leather,” or, “Where did you find your purse?”

“Thanks,” I always say with real gratitude. “I got it at the Pioneer Woman Mercantile in Pawhuska, Oklahoma.” I love the word Pawhuska, and say it right: Puh HUSS ka, and with a bit of a drawl. And so the conversation begins with a lovely young woman and I am reminded that it’s a lie that the youngsters don’t like the oldsters, that ageism should even be a word, much a less something I worry about.

Of course it exists, but life is soooo way too short to be taking note of those with so little wisdom that they don’t recognize mine. Of course those complimenary and pleasant young women may be the exception rather than the norm. But don’t I prefer an exception-al life to a norm-al (offended) life?

Absolutely! I am not getting, or losing, my joy because someone somewhere thinks I’m past it. That’s because even though my wrinkles say otherwise, I am so much younger than I was when I was 20-something (when I was always spouting off something I later regretted). On the outside I may look like my purse–in need of a little spit and polish. But inside I get younger every single day.

Why not join me?