The woman turned seventya milestone! For the occasion, she bought fabric and ordered a dress. It was elegant, beautiful. To complete the look, she found a pair of exquisite silver earrings online, splurging a little.
When she put it all on and gazed in the mirror, she saw herself transformedyounger, brighter. *A new outfit really does lift the spirit,* she thought, smiling. Then, she busied herself in the kitchen, preparing a feast for her guests. Her sisters were coming, and her brother was bringing their elderly mother, who would soon be ninety-five.
The table gleamed with fine china, and the food looked irresistible. When the guests arrived, the frail old mother was seated in the place of honor. She would stay awhile, then rest in the next room when tired.
The birthday woman changed into her new dress and earrings, stepping out to gasps of admiration. Their praise warmed her heart. Glasses were raised for the first toast, then the second. But then, one sister said, “Im surprised at you. Ordering a dress at seventyand those earrings, so costly! Whats the point? You barely go outno husband, no work, no theatre trips. Youve got plenty of lovely old dresses to wear out first.”
The others nodded, chiming in about their own overstuffed wardrobes and unworn clothes. Suddenly, the new dress felt tight, the earrings heavy, dragging at her ears. A hollow ache settled in her chest. *Seventy is seventylifes passed by, and here I am, a dolled-up old woman.* Her smile faded, her face stiff.
She didnt want to talk, didnt want to eat. The guests sensed the shift, the room growing quiet. Then, her mother, silent until now, spoke. “My mother lived nearly a hundred. So did my father. Long life runs in our blood.”
She continued, “When my mother turned ninety, my father went to the market and bought her a crimson shawl. At dinner, he pulled it from hiding, draped it over her shoulders. She sat there, stroking it with her wrinkled hands, glowing like shed shed twenty years.”
“Things arent for their own saketheyre for *us*,” the old woman said softly. “They bring joy. But love and kindnessthats what truly makes us happy.” After a pause, she added, “Have you forgotten?” Then, sharpening her tone at the critical sister: “And youmind that sharp tongue. Words can cut deeper than you know.”
With that, she rose and left to rest. The table stayed somber. The sister muttered an apology, but the air remained thick. Conversation faltered; laughter felt forced. The poison of those words hung heavy.
Then, her favorite niece arrived with her husband, bursting in with cheerful greetings. The husband knelt, presenting a bouquet of roses and singing a line from an old ballad. The niece opened a small boxinside, a string of river pearls. “Where did you find these?” everyone marveled.
The niece clasped them around her aunts neck, pulling her to the mirror, hugging her, clapping with delight. The room buzzed back to life. Glasses chimed, toasts were made, laughter rang genuine.
The bitterness had dissolved, replaced by warmth. The woman sat, her heart light again, thinking, *Seventy? Thats nothing. Theres so much aheadjust live and be glad.*
And so she dida radiant, elegantly dressed woman with pearls at her throat, smiling, happy, seventy years young.
The lesson? Joy isnt in the years youve lived, but in the love you shareand sometimes, a little sparkle is just what the soul needs.
