I have always liked the quote by Victor Hugo that addressed age....the one where he reasoned that"Forty is the old age of youth and fifty is the youth of old age". It made sense to me. The impractical side chose to relate to age in a way which meant I was never going to get old with that philosophy in mind. There was no mention of turning 60 or 70 and that worked for me. Until now. Somewhere along the line, my physical side did not keep up with my philosophical side. Although I still refuse to acknowledge the gray hair when I look in the mirror and rationalize the occasional wrinkle that pops up by consoling myself that at least I have outgrown it being a zit popping up....the reality, is that my body reminds me on a regular basis that I am no longer as young as I think I am. I blame it on our sofa at the shop. There is no other explanation that I find reasonable so the sofa gets the blame. If you haven't come and sat a spell on our demon sofa, you should....and then you will understand. It either turns you into a bobblehead character fighting the nap trap or a stiff as a board individual doing a Night Of the Living Dead impression while trying to stand and walk like a normal person. It is at those moments that I have figured out that my knitting is best served staying in my knit bag so needles won't become disengaged from the yarn and I can't become a moving object of mass destruction. I have noted that none of our younger knitters and crocheters seem to have an issue with the sofa. However, the same can't be said for husbands and anyone over 40. So although the demon sofa reminds me regularly that I'm not as young as I think I am, I guess the only thing to do is to curl up on it, pull a shop afghan over my weary, aged bones, take a nap and dream about that Intarsia sweater I just finished.....in my dreams that is!