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“Mom, how old is Aunt Florence?” Paige asked.

“Well, I can’t quite remember.  I know we had an eighty-seventh birthday for her not that long ago.  I can’t remember if that was one or two years ago.”  I was thinking out loud.  “She’s either eighty-eight or eighty-nine,” I confirmed.

Paige’s jaw dropped. “So, you means she’s one or two years away from NINETY?!”  She almost fainted when I told her last year I turned the big 3-0 and she pronounced me old.  I can only imagine how old Aunt Florence sounds to her.  At seven, ninety years ago must seem like the beginning of time.  “She looks REALLY good for her age, Mom!”

That she does.  She lives alone, goes out frequently, and to look at her, you wouldn’t think she was older than maybe mid-60’s.

She must have a fountain of youth somewhere.

She must have a fountain of youth somewhere.

I started to talk about all the amazing things Aunt Florence must have seen in her lifetime.  But Paige interrupted me.

“I wonder how she keeps her skin so MOISTURIZED!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  “Well, maybe Aunt Florence has some beauty secrets you need to sit down and discuss with her at the next family get together,” I joked.