Admittedly, I’m a slow adapter to change. I’d rather not admit to myself that I am not 30 years old any more. Or 40. Or 50. It’s getting harder to ignore.
Recently I spent an afternoon with two friends. One friend’s husband was preparing to have a hip replaced and the other friend spoke of her knees crunching when walking up stairs. They didn’t hurt, she said, but she heard them. Feeling rather content that I haven’t had any arthritis pains, I nodded and commiserated.
The laugh is on me, because I heard my knees the next time I went upstairs at home. “What!? Is that my knees?”