“Not sure I should believe you, Judy.” “About what?” “That you say that you’re seventy-five.” “Not a day older or younger,” she says, pride ripe in her tone. “Still looking pretty good, don’t you think?” I swallow. “I was just wondering if you’d let me take you out to dinner.” She tips her head back and laughs. “Oh, child. Because that’s what you are—a child. You couldn’t handle this old woman.”
