Is This Book About Me?

When I give my little “elevator” speech about Sister Jane, I feel compelled to mention that she is, a) an older woman and b) grew up in a small town.

One friend immediately asked me, “what’s older?” I’m afraid to answer that. I know, whether I like it or not, that I am considered older. My worst birthday year was not when I turned fifty, but fify-five. At that point (although I think this category has since changed), I would be in the great miasma of fifty-five and up. I would be in that last check box. Now, if that doesn’t make a poor girl feel old, I don’t know what does. I’m curious what you all think? And although the last check box has changed, I’ve managed to grow into that one as well.