Happiest Days: Are happiness and turning eighty mutually exclusive? Not at all! Yet no one is more surprised than I am to make this discovery. Ever since I turned seventy-nine, I had dreaded the day I would turn eighty—should I live that long. In my mind, being eighty was not just old but ancient. The only positive aspect I could find was that I could WEAR A PURPLE DRESS WITH A RED HAT that didn’t suit me, and I could spend my social security check on brandy while the refrigerator went bare. The year-long prelude of angst could not delay
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