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Even these days, a lot of people dismiss older women. And they really shouldn’t.

A lot of us still have a zest for life, a willingness to learn and an appetite for travel.

Many of us have reasonable health, some disposable income and the time to take advantage of both. 

The funny thing is, nothing terrible happens when you have a significant birthday even though youngsters assume it does. 

We are exactly the same souls at 60 or 80 as we were at 39. We just know more important stuff. We surf the internet, we have iPhones, we have WhatsApp groups, we know how to book holidays and go on Instagram. We have Pinterest boards.

Older women have a great deal going for them. They have experience, conversation, knowledge and they know what they don’t want and aren’t afraid to say it.

This in itself makes older women good companions and friends. They can laugh at themselves; they don’t take life quite so seriously. They know what colours suit them and if they don’t, they know how to find out. They will tell you if your arse actually does look big in those trousers. They know not to be fobbed off with poor service. They know how to get someone else to do the recycling. 

Time really does go by fast. That toddler plastering the room with porridge is suddenly all grown up and working in the financial services industry or in my case, encouraging me to have a new kitchen because he designs them.

It’s the same for older women, one minute you are a teenager quarrelling with your parents about the length of a skirt, the next you are using the same arguments with your daughter. 

You don’t understand, they shout as they flounce out, slamming the door. Yes, we do. We understand perfectly, that’s the problem.

We have taken the knocks, learned the lessons, danced the dance, bought the skinny jeans and given them away. 

We went through a lot to become the women we are today. And we should be recognised and valued for that. We are capable of more wit, kindness, love, loyalty and tolerance than our twenty-year-old selves. And even though we might be retired, we still like to have fun, try ouzo (once) watch Bridgerton, paint our nails, criticise Masterchef while eating takeaway pizza and occasionally drown our sorrows with a box of wine. We might wake up with a headache, but we remembered to buy paracetamol and we know where the packet is.

Maybe love like youth is wasted on the young. We know the value of a hand held, a kind word from someone who doesn’t care if you have varicose veins or age spots, because you’ve both got over the fact that you don’t look like Audrey Hepburn and never did. We know the value of ourselves. And if we don’t, we jolly well should.

And remember, don’t mess with older women, we didn’t get this old by being daft. 

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