What does 60 look like?

Emphasis on the does.

It must look like me. And I'm not 60.

So I'm in a Goodwill store buying dishes we can break up to make mosaics for the library's spring sale (that would be buying from one charity to benefit another with a lot of labor in between) and I notice the sign that on Tuesdays seniors get a 15% discount. There's not an explanation as to what makes a senior.

I certainly do not consider myself such, although the local movie theater let me be a senior at 55. But when I put my goodies on the counter and the sweet young thing asks to see my driver's license before she's rung up even one item, I get suspicious.

"Why?" I'm sure I glared at her. "Oh, I'm not a senior," I explain when the light dawns on me.

She nods, a little unbelievingly.

"Really, I'm 58."

Whew! She seems relieved. "Well, so many people wait until I ring them up and then they say I forgot to give them their discount." She's happily punching in numbers. "I mean, what does 60 look like?"

And when I was her age, I had no idea either. In fact, in this age of baby-boomer age-denial, I'm still not sure.

Except it doesn't look like me!