A wonderful article by Pamela Druckerman, a writer in her 40’s living in Paris, wrote a piece for the NYTimes earlier this month which said, “If you want to know how old you look, just walk into a French cafe. It’s like a public referendum on your face.” She described her experiences patronizing these shops and going from Mademoiselle to Madame as she lived there longer and longer.
I snorted when I read her article. I do remember feeling jarred the first time I heard someone address me as “ma’am”, but I was called something entirely new recently. Walking on an exquisite bridle path (cool signage, right?!) in Phoenix in early May, a carload of teenage boys honked as they drove by me from behind, passed and called out their open window, “Looking good…Grandma!” Talk about a compliment and a sucker punch in three words!
How could they possibly know I have three amazing grandchildren?
If only they’d seen me two days later while I was at the luxurious Fairmont Princess in Scottsdale doing aerial yoga and looking anything one would describe as grandmotherly! Hey, I’m grateful for every day I’ve got here on earth. Call me whatever…