he reminded me that I was 90, the bugger, looking at me all funny, as if he understood what that should mean, how a woman of my era and standing should act when in public.
I told him, young man, I've kept the lid on for far too long, and no one ever explained to me why; they've all gone now anyway, no one left to care that I was able to manage it.
I told him to laugh, take risks, be who he really wants to be, but he just passed me a basket full of wool and needles, weakly suggesting that I could make him a nice hat.
give me that thing, you poor devil, I hooted, I've got eight decades of acting the goat to catch up on, and with that I pulled the darn thing over my pretty young girl's head!
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