I must look older than I am

How I wish I could say that the other way round, but it seems this is not the case. Sigh. There's a woman here in Bovinia - I'm not even going to give her a name, as I am still deciding if she is worthy of being a regular part of my blog (you'll see why in a minute) - anyway, it takes no Sherlock Holmes to deduce that she must be at least 6 years older than me. And she looks it - ha. Maybe I sound bitter, but I have good reason. Several times this personage has, in the course of conversations with yours jadedly, referred to people "of our age". The first time I thought, wow - are you really that young? The second time I scrutinised her more closely. The third time I scrutinised myself closely in the mirror afterwards. Call me petty, but I have only got another eight and half months of being in my thirties and I don't need being lumped with a forty-five year old before my time. Anyway, diplomat that I am (when called for), I haven't reacted, but I've been planning scenarios in my head where I challenge her on this. An example reply would be, so what is "our age", exactly? Or, how old do you think I am? (Rejected, as she would probably say 45, then I'd feel like slapping her or crying or both, and that would be the end of a beautiful acquaintance). Better still, so how old are you then? Followed up by, oh, well I don't suppose 6 years is that much of a difference!! Miaow.

Deep, deep sigh. I will never use any of these replies. I'll keep schtumm as I always do, then go home and simmer with resentment for the rest of the day, or week, or month. Luckily I have CG as my ever-faithful, adoring, reassuring sounding board - you don't look any older than the day I met you, darling! (Thanks, babe.) He'll probably still be buying me mini-skirts when I'm 87. He also knows it is more than his life's worth to behave otherwise.