Another birthday, another number added to my age column. This birthday was one of those benchmark ages: BIG 6-0. To quote an old song, “How did it get so late so early?”

Naturally, I knew this birthday was coming and of course I knew what age I would become, but I had not really given the matter a lot of thought. I often joke that I gave up my birthday when my first grandson was born, but I am well aware of it anyway. I just had not paid much attention to what age I would be.

Then I received a telephone call and that changed everything. It was one of those pesky telemarketing calls we all get and grumble about. Only this one was an opinion survey rather than product sales or credit cards offers.

Most of the time I am quite polite to telemarketers even when I tell them I’m not interested. I’m in sales, too, and a job is a job, so I try to be nice even when they call as I’m about to sit down to a meal.

So, when I received this particular call I was being very polite and when the young man explained that he was not trying to sell anything and was seeking opinions on various products I was actually quite interested.

I agreed to do the survey and answer as honestly as I could. Then the young man asked if I was between the ages of 18 and 49. When I said I was over 49 he politely thanked me for my time and started to hang up.

I told him to wait just a darn minute, he wanted opinions and I certainly had a lot of them and I was willing to share.

He hesitated a bit, obviously somewhat taken aback and then told me I didn’t fit the correct age category. “So, I’m too old for you to want my opinions, is that it?” I asked. “I’m sorry, but this opinion survey is only valid for females 18 to 49 years of age.” The young man stated sounding a bit nervous. “But, I used to be 18 to 49 and I have opinions, lots of opinions and I’d love to give them to you.”

He hung up on me! The snot-nosed little twit hung up because I’m too darn old for his opinion survey. Now I am depressed about my age. How on earth can I be too old to offer my opinions to a telemarketer?

I do not think that 60 is old. Sure, when I was 18 no doubt I thought 60 was ancient, but that is definitely not the case any longer. And I certainly think my opinions are just as valid now as they were when I was 18. In fact, more so; I was a dumb teenager then, now I’m not. I have better opinions

Though it may be true that I don’t move as fast as I used to and if I try to I’ll probably break something, but my mind still works pretty darn well.

And I may not keep up with all the technological advances as well as I should. I admit I’m a 33 1/3 living in an iPod world, but I still have some great thoughts.

My eyesight has betrayed me a bit lately and my glasses are now triple vision, but when it comes to the ways of the world I can see things quite well, thank you very much.

I can handle the aging process, the failing eyesight and loss of memory, the stiff joints and aches and pains. I tolerate the frequent trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night; that’s just a fact of life. I don’t even mind the gray hair and wrinkles; I think they give me character.

In short, I don’t really mind getting older because it’s a whole lot better than the alternative. Plus I’m getting more and more discounts in all the stores.

What I do mind is some telemarketing guy who is probably not as old as my shoes telling me I’m too old to offer my opinions. I mind a great deal that once I reach a certain age there is someone who thinks I no longer have anything of value to say.

I know I’m overreacting a bit. The products in question were probably about birth control or something else that the post-menopausal women do not use, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have good opinions about that stuff.

I shouldn’t let it get me down thought. I am, after all, a mature adult. The way I see it Mr. Telemarketer may not want my opinion, but if he reads this column he’s going to get it anyway.