Fountain of Youth

     "Step right up. Please, take a dip in the Fountain of Youth. Lie about your age. Add five years."

     Once you pass the halcyon age of 35, that Golden Mean in time when we're at our dewiest and sexiest, you start wishing clocks traveled backwards. You no longer yearn to reach a future time where you can drink, vote, smoke, drive a car, or have sex without someone waving a placard about your underage promiscuity.
     It was at that age I discovered the Fountain of Youth. I was standing at a makeup counter mulling over backwards-running timepieces that would prevent the impending wrinkles and sags that were to be my future for the next 60+ years. As my family's expiration dates were usually around 100, I knew my face and I were in for quite a slog in our quest to defy gravity.
     The salesperson chirped, "What can I help you find?"
     "Something to stop the stride of time on my face, please."
     "How old are you?"
     Counter-intuition jumped in. "40."
     "Reeeaaally? You look fabulous!"
     Suddenly, whenever I could weave it into the conversation, I'd tell strangers I was 40 years old. And every time I would hear some version of, "You look marvelous, darling. Keep up whatever you're doing."
     So, for nearly 35 years I've kept it up--adding five years to my age.
     Here's what's amazing. The longer I do this, the more the years keep ticking off my face. Now, kissing-distance from 70, the more myopic folks, glancing down at my late-in-life stomach (should have exercised a bit more between bouts of lying about my age), ask, "When's your baby due?"
     Never offended, I say, "Thank you for thinking I'm young enough to get pregnant."
     And then they ask the secret to my youth. (300 words)