On trying to wriggle out of getting old

The Husband and I, having dinner at a local restaurant last Friday night, were discussing the fact that, despite the restaurant being pretty much booked, they still squeezed us in without a booking. We figured that it pretty much came down to two things ...

1. We rocked up early, getting there not long after 6pm, which meant that they could feed us, take our money and we'd be out the door around 7.30pm, a little before the 8pm crowd started slinking through the door; and

2. That, looking like we're in the vacinity of a thirty something couple with no children and disposable income, it pays to encourage us to come back to their restaurant and spend said disposable income.

... which led The Husband (who is turning 30 this year) and I Into the following conversation ...

The Husband "Do you think that turning 30 means you are in your early thirties, or late twenties?"

The Ginger "There's a '3' in front of it. It's thirties."

The Husband "Very, very late twenties?"

The Ginger "Nope. Thirties. If there's a '3' it's thirties."

The Husband, looking miserable and defeated, "Darn."