My life as a geezerette

Confession: I don't feel any geezerier than anyone else. In my mind I am maybe 28 years old. The calendar says different, though.

Life in geezerdom is full of minor shocks. One of them is discovering that all the doctors and dentists are younger than you.

So I go to a new, specialist dentist, supposedly a whiz at really serious root canal problems like mine. I expect a learned, grizzled, serious person, with years of victorious dental battles behind him. I'm sitting in the chair with a bib around my neck--not the most dignified position, but I can think of worse--and in bounces this--this boy! I look around for a grown-up, but the youth is the only other person in evidence.

It takes an effort not to demand to see his diploma.

My family doctor has his diploma framed upon the wall. He graduated from college the same year as my oldest daughter.

But the worst--the absolute worst--was having someone offer me a seat in the London Underground. It was a woman, too. And not a very young one.