Maturity is Overrated

Unknown-4I’ve always considered myself “young.”  I’ve never acted my age.  Ever.  Even now, as a mother.  The Kid is constantly reprimanding me because of my inappropriate behavior.  I do silly things.  Make dumb choices.  Laugh when someone farts.

But not only have I always acted young.  I always looked young.  When I was 12, I looked 8.  When I was 18, I looked 14.  And so on.  When I finally turned 21 and I ordered my first legal glass of White Zin, the waitress stared at my I.D. for about 17 seconds then accused me of forging my birth year.  I got carded for quite a while.  And then, I didn’t.  Huh.

So, when two “collegues” in the span of about 7 days approached me at My Retail Job asking for my advice because I am a “mature woman” I was a little more than shocked.  Me?  Mature?  What do you mean?  I looked around to make sure they weren’t speaking to someone else.  Like some old biddy standing behind me, perhaps?

Unfortunately, they weren’t.  “You know, you’ve been around a while.  You know what to do.”  I ran home both times and stared at myself in the mirror.  Okay, so I have a few more wrinkles than usual, my lips are pretty much non-existent (why does that happen) and my jowls rival those of Julia Childs.  But come on.  I’m not old.  Am I?

Hmmm.  I do tend to pee without warning when I sneeze, cough or just because.  I can’t remember what I did 30 seconds ago pretty much all the time.  I need longer arms so I can read.  My hair is going gray.  I have parenthesis between my eyes.  My knees are sagging.  And my boobs have joined them.  My body aches when I get out of bed in the morning.  I need to turn up the volume on the TV to about 42.  Oh.  Holy Shit.  I’m old.  When the hell did that happen?  But, I was just young the other day.  I swear it.

Ok, so this old chick isn’t giving free advice anymore.  If you want it, you’re gonna pay.  Except it ain’t gonna be a nickle.  Hey, we seniors have to make a living.  And if you ask for advice and use the word “mature” in any form, there’s going to be a premium added.  Let this be your warning.  Have a nice day you whipper-snappers.

Middle of the Road


Mentally I act 22.  Physically I feel 35 (ok, maybe sometimes).  But really I am middle aged.  There is no question.  Because no matter how much I try to act like a college student, I am not.  How do I know?  Let me count the ways.

  1. I may be in the best physical shape of my life at this moment, but if I sit in one position for longer than, let’s say, 8 minutes, my legs feel like they’ve been put through a chipper.
  2. When I’m done peeing, I’m not done peeing.  I realize this only when somehow a little extra has escaped when I least expect it.  I’m not sure why I am surprised when this happens.
  3. If I so much as look at a plate of nachos, I gain 2 pounds.
  4. I tragically mistook the guitar riff from Led Zeppelin’s “Communication Breakdown” for cicadas.  But just for a second, until I came to what’s left of my senses.
  5. What’s with these kids listening to their music so loudly?  Don’t they know they’ll go deaf?
  6. I have the memory of a goldfish.  No really.  Wait, what was I talking about?
  7. Reading glasses are now an accessory.  Like a necklace with benefits.  Sometimes you will see me with 2 or 3 of them piled on top of my head.  You know, just in case I misplace a pair and can’t remember where I put it.
  8. There is hair where there shouldn’t be.  Like at the end of my chin.  And extra long 4″ hairs growing from my brow.  And they are gray.  If I had known they were there, I would have plucked them.  But I can’t see.
  9. I recently spent a bit too much time trying to rub an age spot off the back of my hand.
  10. My knees have wrinkles.  Even with all the cardio I do.  When I run and look down, they appear to be frowning at me.  My knees are not very inspirational.
  11. 2 drinks feel like 10.  Even when it’s just Kool-Aid.

Ok, I’m done.  I could go on, but I’m getting depressed.  And I have to go and take my Metamucil.  See you at the Early Bird Special.