Don't Mess With Grandma.

It happened. Again.

I am just minding my own business--well, as much as I ever really mind my own business--and the comment is made. Again. In a somewhat gushing manner, yes. By someone who has just learned that I have recently become a Grandmother.

Oh, you look too young to be a Grandma!

Now, before you get all up in the heezy regarding my braggadocio, it's not what you think.

Note: No, I am not Italian, but I am prone to braggadocio anyhow.

I blush, appropriately, and answer, appropriately, in a charming manner. Oh, thank you, but I'm definitely old enough to be a Grandma, I say. I turn my eyes downward, of course, so no one sees the delight. Or the fine lines and wrinkles.

Note: I may be exaggerating my delight, but it makes for a far better story. Unfortunately, I am not exaggerating the fine lines and wrinkles.

Now, here comes the comment to which I refer: Wow, I hope that I can look as good as you when I'm in my fifties or sixties.

Fifties? Or sixties? Are you kidding me?

Note: I, too, hope that I look as good as me in my fifties and sixties.

Oh well. At least I've got a darn cute Grand Boy.

Heck, yes!