Old Wives' Tails, Heads and Lumps in Between

I didn't plan on being “elderly gravida” (pregnant at 35 or older) when the stork finally flew my way. We began trying when I was 32, and finally hatched Boss when I was in spitting distance of 40. Two years later Stinker came along as I neared fortybleepingtwo, walker in tow.

Not that the 40s are THAT old, she sighed indignantly, scoffing at an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. She flicked the page. Why are those hoodie things STILL around? Didn't the Unabomber send them right down the style drain? Oh wait, today's youngsters probably don't know that reference...

In truth, I don't really feel old (much). I've always needed more sleep than the average bear, so that's no different. I may go to bed in the 10s, but that's because I get up earlier; the boys crow at the crack of dawn after all. I can still hold my booze and boogie 'til 3 in heels--I just don't want to. But that's not being old, it's just a priority change.

Yes it is.

No, YOU'RE wrong.

I know you are but what am I?

I'm rubber, you're glue ... Oh, never mind! Call it what you will.

OK, so I don't feel old physically (Although, what IS that weird pain shooting down my jaw that happens every so often? It's freaky! And why are my toes numb and tingly in the morning?).

I don't think I look all that old, either, but I guess I look my age.

No, it's true.

Oh, you're a darling. But I do.

Anywho, story for you: A few months ago, I clicked a video link my brother posted on Facebook. A bunch of middle-aged folks were flapping their elbows and staggering around a dance floor. “Who ARE these people?” I wondered; it looked like a PTA after party in full swing. Where were their mock turtlenecks and docksiders to match that hair?

Oops, gulp. It was bro's 25^th high school reunion. “Damn, they look OLD!” I thought. Oops, again. They're just one year older than ME.

[Rude knock on my head]

Do I look like that? (Worse, do I DANCE like that?)

Sigh, probably and probably.

But you know what? As many wise brethren will attest, what you add on in years, you take off in giving a shhh. Perhaps the brain needs space for more memories, so out goes the worry of how you look, what you say, who you are.

It's liberating, really. And it's better than all the happy hours, smooth skin, taut buns and hoodie fashions you'd ever want.

Just one thing. … I wouldn't mind trading in this gray hair. … OK, two: I am NOT getting those bifocals.

Am not.

Am not.

That's cuz you are.

[Wet raspberry here]

Well, OK. Maybe next year. 

If I must.