At the age of three, pedant. At sixteen no writer of

love notes, disability number one. Returning, age

four, I curl up my toes. At seventeen, waiting only

longer for delays. At 20 I saw a jumbo jet fly in the

sky, without first taking off. Miracles happen, strange


or not. Will I have visions at 21? A birthday present, she.

Reading tweets on Twitter, drooling over Jill Masterson.

Life is a pleasant surprise at 22, suffering a premature

male menopause, some say. Ironing my friend's shirt, sun

-day is great for minimalists. By the beach, empty at 33