"Hmm," I sigh thinking of how this is the nth version of the same discussion I've had with men for almost a decade, then calmly, "I'm going to go with 24. Maybe turning 25." Mr. X is tickled,"Is it THAT obvious?" he laughs.
"Well," I admit, "there ARE telltale signs. Either that or I'm just very good with numbers. You know being half Chinese and all. Though don't ask me to do the casino for you." He finds all this funny and tells me he thinks he has an idea of my age.
"You do?," I mock surprise. "Pray tell, DO share with us this divine number you've pulled out from THAT place I'm too much of a lady to mention." Mr. X hoots at this,"Eeeerm, well. Judging from your photo, you've got to be 28. Or 27."
"Oh, dear." I murmur with concern. "You'd better sit down for this then. Either that, or prepare to tank this whole endeavor." Giggling, he ushers me to go on so I do. "I'm actually 41, X." I hear the laughter immediately die down to a shocked silence.
"Testing, testing..one, two, three," I prod tapping the phone with a finger. "Are you still there? Are you ok? Have you fainted?" I hear Mr. X croak on the other line then try to catch his breath, "But you CAN'T be 41, I mean, seriously you sound, look, act nothing like it. Are you sure?" he asks me as if I'd just caught a disease and the lab results were faulty.