“You need to grow up a bit more,” the Barbies would sneer. Invitations to join elite adolescent cliques or slumber parties ceasing immediately if I let the truth be known.
“We’d never have guessed,” I imagined the smirk on the faces of my middle-aged circle of friends if the magic number leaked out.
“She’s so wrinkled and almost bald,” care home visitors speculated on the number of my antiquity.
Never state your age out loud.