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Saturday, September 15, 2012
A Party for Miss Muriel
Miss Muriel is still, as they say, sharp as a tack and able to throw back a whiskey sour with nary a ladylike gasp. She sat out on the lanai like a dowager, accepting well-wishes from the guests and assessing her presents with the precision of a pawnbroker.
I sat out in the shade, watching the partygoers wander through the wide back yard that sloped down to the bayou. They were all so old. Few young people were around except for the occasional great-grandchild.
It wasn't until about an hour later that I suddenly realized most of these people belonged to what is euphemistically described as my own age group.
I am far too young to be this old.