Friday evening D1 and I opened our January books from the book-of-the-month club conducted by my family for small grandchildren. (The book designated for me did not seem to be quite at my reading level, but it was distinguishable from D1's by being non-chewable.) After D1 had crumpled the wrapping paper and chewed appreciatively on her book for awhile, we took her into her bedroom to get her ready for bed.
Suddenly DOB started whacking her on the back and fishing in her mouth. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"She's got something in her mouth!" DOB exclaimed.
I pried her mouth open and looked in horror. "No, she doesn't, but the roof of her mouth has turned blue!" My mind raced, trying to think of what loathsome disease would turn the roof of the mouth blue.
"No, it hasn't," DOB exclaimed, and indicated I should try fishing in there myself. I stuck my finger in and sheepishly pulled out a piece of sky-blue wrapping paper.
A little bit later, I took her wet diaper into the bathroom, glanced at myself in the mirror, and gasped in despair. DOB came to see what was the matter.
"I've got wrinkles!" I declared, pointing at tiny lines on either side of my mouth.
"Oh, those are no big deal," DOB said, "I have them, too, see?" He pointed to his mouth, and then realized that his moustache covered any applicable evidence.
I do find it somewhat consoling, however, that I've never had a gray hair, whereas DOB has been having them since he was eleven. I guess we'll just spread the aging around.