Strangely enough, my sister’s pep talk was making me feel better. I had forgotten the part about getting presents.

“You are right, Sis. I should cheer up.” I sniffed, and then asked brightly, “What did you get me?”

“ME? Get real!” my sister hooted. “I meant that maybe other people will give you presents. My point is that there is no reason for you to carry on like this every birthday. I would think that you could handle them better, considering how many you have lived through.”

Once again my generosity allowed someone else to have the last word.

Later that same dreary day at the Library where we worked, my best friend, What’s-Her-Name, tried to cheer me up…well, in a manner of speaking.

“I’m really sick of starting your birthday off the same way every year. If you keep throwing yourself under the tires of my Nissan, you are going to knock it out of alignment,” What’s-Her- Name complained. “You’ve got to promise to find a different annual suicide attempt or I’m not going to pick you up for work any more.”

“Okay,” I whined listlessly, “What does it matter anyway? I’m old and ugly.”

“Don’t be silly! You’re not…  Well, you’re not real ugly,” What’s-Her-Name said staunchly. Then she lowered her voice, “As a matter of fact, for some weird reason that good-looking young man standing by the Young Adult Fiction hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he walked in.”

“Who?” My eyes popped open and I looked for the guy What’s-Her-Name referred to. Hmmm. He was certainly good looking and he was certainly in the right section of the library (Young Adult); he was also certainly staring at me… admiringly!

I smiled at him. His smile grew wider. Hey, maybe there was life after… never mind what after. I rose to my feet and glided gracefully toward him.

“Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you were looking at me,” I murmured, batting my eyelashes at the poor smitten fool. “Could we possibly have anything in common… given our age difference?”

“More than you know!” The young man leaned toward me, and then suddenly grabbed me in a big hug. “Don’t you remember me? You used to baby-sit me. I called you Auntie Librarylady and you called me…”

“A lot of things.” I freed myself from the little whippersnapper’s hug and stomped back to What’s-Her-Name.

“You want another try at throwing yourself under the Nissan?” she asked sympathetically.

“I guess not. Getting old may not be a lot of fun,” I mused. “But the alternative is really grim… and, more important, there is still cake to look forward to.”