Dilemma, part 3

When my sixty-something year old co-worker tells me (for the FOURTH TIME) that she has begun giving computer lessons to an 80-year old lady who lives down the street from her, would it be wrong for me to comment supportively:

"Must be nice to have someone close to your own age to talk to."

Discuss.

Spring chicken

I was standing at the sink doing dishes last night when Brett snuck up behind me, put his arms around my waist and laid his head on my back. We stood there for a moment, enjoying the closeness. Eventually, he picked his head up, but didn't let go of my waist.

All of a sudden, I felt a sting on my scalp, like a bug bite. Then another. And another.

"Ow. OW!" I cried. "What's going on? What are you doing back there?"

"I thought you'd want me to get this out of your hair..."

"Get what out? Is it a spider? I think it bit me! Get it out! Get it out!"

Brett reaches his arm around and dangles something in my face, too close for me to see. "Look how long it is!" he says admiringly.

I crane my neck backward and the object between his fingertips comes into focus.

It's a gray hair. Very long. Very gray. Very unwelcome.

It has friends, too. There's a party going on and all the gray hairs are invited.