Recently a dear friend told me that women in their 60's are invisible. She was speaking firsthand and her observation has haunted me ever since. Who wants to be invisible? Although, the model-thin, spandex-and-i-pod senior with the cherry-colored bob that frequents my Starbucks makes me think invisible isn't the worst thing.

I know my friend was not talking about the small country of family and friends who think she's a goddess. She was talking about parties where twenty-five year olds look right past her. But then, twenty-five year olds (speaking from not-too-distant firsthand) are only slightly less insecure than thirteen year olds. They are in heat and must limit their attention to chums and potential conquests.

So I believe my friend is wrong—most of the time. Because she's so smart and lovely that she glows in the dark. How could anyone miss her? But in moments of doubt I do worry that every new wrinkle makes me disappear a little more. And I know I'm not alone because I see women at Target with as much collagen cream and super-coverage foundation in their carts as I have in mine. So in those times of doubt my solution is to recite two cosmic and soothing words, "Judi Dench, Judi Dench, Judi Dench". She's beautiful, intriguing, smart and (do I even need to say it?) bad ass. And she's old. Is there anyone who doesn't think she's fantastic? And if twenty-five year old party goers don't see her, it looks pretty bad for them.