The younger pinches the skin on the back of my hand.
“Awwwww,” she exclaims, marveling at the way my skin wrinkles in little creases like crepe paper. “It’s so soft and … flexible ……”
“Uh huh,” I acknowledge dourly.
“But why will yours do that? Look at mine—” she pinches the skin on the back of her own hand, skin so taut as to be barely pinchable.
I sigh.
“Why won’t mine do that???” she asks.
“Because you’re young,” I say glumly.
“So it’s tight?”
“Yep.”
“Huh.”
Now she looks glum but then her eyes widen as a thought strikes her.
“Man, I can’t wait to be your age, I’m just gonna pinch myself all day long!” she declares gleefully.
I smile grimly.
Hilarious! In fact, this made my day. I’m pinching my skin right now.
Sorry for such a belated reply! I meant to say in reply that I vividly remember being a child sitting on my Mum’s lap and pinching the skin on her neck, and feeling (similarly to Ada) jealous of the very soft, pliable texture, much to Mum’s incredulity.