So I was working in the yard and one of the ubiquitous six-year-old girls from a couple doors down stopped by to mess with the dogs.
First, she said there was a fly on my leg, and kicked me in the shin. To get the fly to go away, don't you know.
Next she told me how old her grandmother (whom I've known for like, 13 years) is. Then she asked me how old I am.
How old do you think I am, I asked.
"Seventy?" she replied.
I hate this neighborhood.
Update: I don't look a day over sixty-nine-and-a-half. A really hot sixty-nine-and-a-half. You all go die now.
Update II: Believe the Children!