Life gets interesting when Fifi and I walk. Today the sun was out, the sky that shade of blue that makes everything look cutout sharp. A lazy breeze only hinted it might get more industrious later. Dressed in black workout clothes, I braided my hair and we hit the streets. We're both getting older, my dog and I, quickly it seems. She still enjoys being admired, and I enjoy remembering what it felt like.

After we'd trotted a short way, we came upon three portly Russian gentlemen sitting on a bench, speaking of things that appeared to excite them. I should add that I was doing face gym at the time, a practice not recommended for public display. I composed my cheeks and jaw and went for a gracious, vaguely friendly, open but distant look. They hushed. The three, sunning themselves with folded arms resting on the shelf of their bellies, resumed their chatter as I approached. The language sounded different now. It purred and hummed, and I caught it buzzing.

Confident that I could pass them with dignity, I strode on, Fifi flapping at the end of her lead. As fate would have it, she had other plans. Directly in front of the men was a patch of grass. "No," I said firmly. "We're off to the meadow, a mere stone's throw away." But she dug in her little feet and balked. I muttered. I coaxed. I pleaded. It's now or never, she said with pert button eyes and a possible smirk.

So I had to stand there for as long as it took, dressed like Cat Woman without the muscles, wondering how my butt measured up, for there was no escaping it--it was on display, and the Russians had something to say about it.

Funny thing though--suddenly I didn't mind being older. I love my body, whatever it looks like. It's at its best right now. I hope I'll be able to say that every day, at every age, at every level of surrender to the years. And I realized that like Fifi, I still love attention when it comes my way. It was all I could do not to boogie.