Ten-Minute Writing - February 5, 2019

"Hardly, he said. You're the bee's knees."
"Haven't heard that in a while."
"Perhaps it should be said to you more often."
"I wouldn't mind that." She took a sip of her wine. Then she looked around the bar again. "They all seem so young..."
He shrugged. "They don't have as much wisdom."
"That's a nice way of saying we're old."
"We're... experienced."
She smiled. "I guess there's something to be said for that."
"We've been put through the paces. We've grinded the millstone. Worked like dogs. We've earned our stripes. We've--"
"Run out of cliches?" she said, her eyebrows raised.
He touched her shoulder and laughed. "We're just old."
She laughed too. "I played some tennis the other day. Only a hour or so. By the time I got home, my ankle ached, my back was sore, my elbow..."
"You have an athlete's body," he said. "Or should I say, You look athletic."
She sat up. "Thank you. I am. Or was. Still am, I guess. The other day not withstanding."
"I noticed right away."
She eyed him, teasingly skeptically. "Did you now?"
​"I always had an eye for these things," he grinned. "And when I saw you, there wasn't any doubt."