Ages ago when my son asked my age, I said I was 18. He has gradually worked out that since then I am now 21. And if I am 21, I had him when I was 13. This does not reflect very well on my husband whose real age they know.
He, my husband that is, recently told me calmly that it’s time to tell my son how old I really am. Maybe he fears being accused of being some sort of deviant.
Well this year, I had to confess that I was in fact going to be 40 and not 22 this summer. To which they responded.”that’s old”.
I’m not quite sure whether I prefer being referred to as old or a liar?