I’M ALSO VERY MUCH IN FAVOUR OF TAKING LIFE AS IT COMES.

like a sorority pledge. It’s dishonest or a denial of reality.

Throw feminist bricks if you want. Nature won’t care. At 63 a woman is likely to enjoy a deep and satisfying relationship with a man with whom she has shared the travails of raising children. Indeed the magic of courtship is inextricably entwined with the prospect of doing so. Romance is not just about self-gratification. Why do you think couples baby-talk? They’re auditioning as parents. But not at 63, advances in assisted reproduction notwithstanding. It’s time to grow up.

Ugh. Really? We don’t want to. Mercatornet’s Michael Cook just highlighted some Mercedes-Benz ads urging people to grow up and drive one of their cars that portrayed adult lives as chaotic, miserable and strangely episodic. They certainly no longer seem to be something we aspire to, admire or even understand.

A recent news story chortled about how Japan’s first lady, Akie Abe, avoided an awkward evening’s dinner conversation with Donald Trump by pretending not to speak English. And it’s a trick worth remembering. But what struck me was that Ms. Abe, Japan’s youngest first lady since the Second World War and popular for opposing her older husband’s right-wing policies, has no children. Then someone pointed me to a Mark Steyn video where he observed that the leaders of Germany, France, Britain and Italy are likewise childless. And Ireland. And the Netherlands.

These nations face possibly terminal demographic decline, in Europe’s case seeking to replace their vanishing people with immigrants and in Japan with robots.

But even if you’re cool with that, it’s noteworthy that our model of “adulthood” no longer seems to involve the concept of passing on the gift of life along with some wisdom acquired along the way. (Our own Prime Minister is a distinct outlier among progressives here, in a good way.)

Perhaps I’m old-fashioned. But I’m also very much in favour of taking life as it comes, in stages, from dependent childhood through turbulent adolescence to exploratory young adulthood to finding someone, settling down, helping your own children reach emotional as well as chronological maturity, then becoming wise, kindly grandparents.

If at some point you’re visibly no longer 23, celebrate your good fortune in not having died young, and take pride in the long, interesting life etched on your face.

And stop looking for a hot date. Good grief. You’re not a teenager any more.