“Oh! I thought you were the same age as us or at least in your 60s,” the woman opposite me says, her eyes wide with surprise as she pushes a strand of silver hair behind one ear. “Liz never mentioned.”A pause. This is not a sentence that I – in my late 30s and increasingly aware of the march of time – would usually be happy to hear. But I beam back, thrilled at her mistake.Liz and I became friends five years ago. We met at the perfect place for a millennial like me to pick up an unsuspecting baby boomer: pottery class. It was a slow burn. For several years, we sat side by side as near strangers, kneading and moulding with our hands, our conversation limited to brief hellos and occasional daft questions (me to her).
Load More
Load More