Boom. 35. Now my kids will deem the event respectable.
Me too.
Possibly not without coincidence, my mother’s favorite age for someone to be was 35. Why? Young enough to retain a youthful vigor, old enough to have experience and wisdom. (or that’s how I interpreted her take on things)
(I remember she made this remark when I was playing her a track from Peter Gabriel’s So album. It’s got him on the cover…
She thought he looked “good” and asked how old he was. “35,” I said. “The best age,” she said. “The best age…”)
You’re welcome for that anecdote.
