maybe-better-not-do-a-tantrum-on-the-floor-because-who-knows-if-I-ever-will-get-up-again (title – compliments of Sarah! http://secretartexpedition.wordpress.com)
I do not like being an old lady. There’s not much I can do about it but I don’t like it. I don’t like it! I do NOT like it! If there was someone watching right now I would lay down on the floor, pummel my legs up and down and scream out obscenities which I’m too embarrassed to write down proving I’m an old lady because I was taught that ladies, no matter their age, don’t swear. Even now, when I can’t be sent to my room, I hesitate to say “hell” or “shit” much less utter worse. The problem is I don’t even know what current swear words are. (There’s even a bigger problem if I lay down on the floor. With no one here to watch I might not be able to get back up without help.)
The urban slang dictionary didn’t exist until I was well past middle age and I couldn’t even look up cuss words that were creative. I’m now stuck with the “hells” and “I don’t give a damns” because that’s all I learned.
Let’s talk about wrinkles (it’s easier than the belly fat that has accumulated around my mid-section when even sucking in my stomach it still blubs around like Santa Claus’ bowl full of jelly. So wrinkles it is.)
Why would I want wrinkles? . . . to prove I’m as wise as I have ostensibly become? Phony baloney, I’v never seen a wrinkled owl. Rather than look wise it’s easier to look down my elongating nose at people who have plastic surgery, botox or collagen treatments. If I weren’t scared of pain and had the money I’d get rid of my wrinkles. Instead, I’m doomed to cultivating a self-righteous attitude about my aging, sagging, bagging body and pretend to embrace how old I am.
I’ve tried political correctness – how wonderful it is to be wise, to have accumulated all this worldly experience and be on social security . . . I’ve tried to embrace aging, smile when people ask me what I do and act like it’s wonderful to have no career, no purpose, no energy. I’ve tried wrinkle creams that promise me youth. I’ve tried laughing at the “old age” cartoons that appear in my in-box and sting in their truths.
Give me the money (and a bottle of numbing vodka – ladies don’t want alcohol breath) and I’ll be on the next surgeon’s schedule to tighten my jowls, pull up my eyelids and get rid of the bags under my eyes . . .
I’ve even considered moving to another country where old age is supposedly venerated. But I’m too tired to pack so I live in these here United States where I’m wise enough to know it’s the youth who say it like it is and have the energy to make this world a better place.
Old age – phooey. It’s highly over-rated . . . by the elderly.
A Cautionary Tale
Dance while you’re young
Pierce your tongue
Dye your hair green
Eat fat, not the lean
Don’t give a lick what makes you tick
Eat, drink and be merry
because if you tarry
you’ll soon be too old
all covered with mold
and have to scrap it off with a stick
