Growing Old (un)Gracefully – by RD

Guest Post alert! Enjoy, I know I did.

So, I’ve accidentally discovered that I am middle age.  The other night, I was watching a comedian on Netflix, and she said that she had a simple equation — if you can take the age your are now, double it, die, and it’s not a tragedy—you’re middle age.   I did the math, and <gasp>….  When and how did that happen?  I just graduated from college a few years ago.  I’m on Instagram!  I drink beer right out of the bottle sometimes!  I swear.  I eat cheesecake for breakfast on occasion.  I have tattoos!  I wear Vans and sparkly eyeshadow.  Those aren’t the traits of a middle-aged woman.  Except when they are….

Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with my age (44) and don’t consider myself a vain person at all (I would be much thinner and wear high heels if I was), but for years now, I have been under the delusion that I am “aging well.”  Is it strong DNA?  My youthful joie de vivre?  My age-inappropriate attire?  The exorbitant amount I spend on French and Japanese skin care?  Who can say?  But, I am often shocked when I find out a celebrity or someone I’ve recently met is in my age bracket — “He/she looks sooooo much older than me!”, I crow.  Hubby thinks this is hilarious.  Although, he knows better than to disagree with me. 

When I was growing up, all the women “of a certain age” I knew looked pretty much the same.  They had short hair, Gloria Vanderbilt glasses, wore sensible shoes, and often sported outfits that sort of looked like the adult version of Garanimals.  To quote Arya on GOT, “That’s not me.”

Side note – If you don’t know what Garanimals are, you probably aren’t middle age.  

Side note #2 – Yes, I refer to Game of Thrones as GOT.  I’m cool like that.

The question is, now that I’ve discovered that I’m middle-age… Does that mean I need to start acting like it?  Isn’t 50 the new 40 and 70 the new 60?  Look at Jane Fonda!  Robert Redford!  Other people whose names I am forgetting,  because I’m middle-age, and my memory isn’t what it used to be! Just kidding. But not really…

I’m no Jane Fonda…I haven’t exactly been vigilant in my upkeep.  At some point in the near future, the jig will be up, and I’ll really start looking my age.  Here’s the thing though…I have no intention of growing old the “old” way.  I will not be cutting my hair short.  I will not be wearing beige ortho tie shoes.  I won’t be donning a Mrs. Roper mumu with coordinating plastic beads.  Although, if you’re into that, that’s cool. You do you, as the kids say.

No, I think you’ll find me at the senior center (hopefully in the very distant future) in my holey jeans and Vans, hair down to my waist—even if it makes me look like I build gingerbread houses in the forest to trick children—most likely with a few more tattoos and sparklier eyeshadow, drinking beer right out of the bottle, and swapping war stories with the gals about the old days when women earned less than men.

An open letter to the men in my life

Dear husband and child,

I am sitting on a late train home surrounded by two men. One in the seat in front of me. One in the seat behind me. The dude behind me has burped, coughed (with his mouth open, I can tell!!!) and propped his knee into the back of my seat – I know this because I feel his knee.

The guy in front of me is….letting off some gases.

There’s nowhere for me to go. No open window to jump out of. All the other seats are taken. At first I was so disgusted and grossed out, thinking that these were two of the nastiest people on earth. But I think that’s wrong. I think the truth is that they probably don’t behave like this at home. Near loved ones. They probably cover their mouths when they cough and help wounded birds on the side of the road. I’m sure when they walk in the door at home tonight, they’ll hang their coats nicely, put their shoes away and wash their hands. But here, in the world, they roam wild and free and dirty. No one knows them. There’s no wife, girlfriend or mother to scold them. Notice I don’t say boyfriend or husband because I’ve never met a sloppy gay man, maybe in the future I will, but I haven’t yet.

That got me thinking about the two of you. What are you like on a train or a bus? Do you sigh loudly? Do you wantonly take up more than your fair share of space? Do you burp, fart, cough a nasty open cough? I don’t think so. You are both clean, nice, considerate, well-mannered boys. Aren’t you???

I know you are. I have faith. But then again there’s probably some poor woman/mother walking around the world thinking she did a good job with these two walking germs. Or maybe they live in a zoo and this is the best it gets. I dunno.

So promise me that when you are sitting in your mass transit of choice, you’ll remember this and not do at least two of those gross things? Please?

Thank you,

Signed, the woman in your life who will be taking a long, hot, disinfecting shower tonight, xoxo

Gender Bender

I showed my beloved this picture of a very disturbing looking spider that my son found near the basketball hoop, expecting him to have the same reaction as me. I expected him to be equally disgusted and horrified. It obviously looks full of poison and angry. And what about those large, long limbs and those marks? Also, where is the gigantic web this thing lives in? This ain’t no Charlotte. That much I know. Maybe we’d google it together and find a similar creature on Nat Geo or something. Or at the very least he’d want to “get rid” of it. Here’s the pic…what pops into your head?

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Tell the truth, aren’t you a little itchy looking at it? Here’s what he said,
“that grass isn’t doing so well.”
That grass isn’t doing so well??
Alrighty then.
Goodnight Wilbur.