I’m getting really tired of younger people calling me ma’am. I’m cool dammit! Just because I’m north of 40 doesn’t mean I’m old. Also, please don’t call me Mrs. (Insert married name here) either. That’s my mother-in-law’s name, not mine.
The world is filled with teens and college-age store clerks calling me ma’am and I want to smack them. I’m not old! I pay good money to hide my grays…and spend a fortune on anti-wrinkle cream. I DO NOT look old. Stop implying otherwise.
Last night I stopped in a hipster store at the mall just to check out their jewelry…I promise I’m not trying to dress like a 20-something. Unfortunately I had to ask the sales girl to repeat something and I blamed it on playing music too loud in the car on the way over. She laughed at me and I said, “You just wait and see how liberating it is to be in car without kids. It will be blissful.” Really, I didn’t hear her because of too many nights in ridiculously loud clubs. You know, back when I used to be cool.
At a party recently I met up with a friend who’d just had knee surgery. After I asked her about it, she asked about my recovery from back surgery. Suddenly, as if struck by lightening we both swore to never speak like old ladies again! Seriously, only the geriatric talk about ailments. I should know better!
I know that it’s hell getting old. I know that I cannot handle cocktails/beer/shots/wine all night anymore without being hung over. And that sucks. If I have more than one glass of Cabernet at night I feel it the next morning. Again, thank you aging. *middle finger*
Suddenly I feel an incredible amount of sympathy for my parents when I was in school. They turned 40 when I was a senior in high school. They were actually young and cool. I just didn’t know it. My youngest isn’t even in kindergarten yet. I’ll be 55 when he leaves for college. Now that’s VERY OLD.
In defiance of aging and in revolt of how motherhood has changed me, I wore 5″ platforms to the airport today. I am going to prove to myself and the world that I can still walk in these beautiful shoes. Without wobbling, falling, tripping. So far I’m succeeding, but my grandma’s mantra “Beauty is painful” is running through my mind. Let’s just say that there was a dicey moment or two getting on the escalator but I survived!
Good luck to all of you this weekend. Wear the heels, look marvelous, dance to 90s music and pretend your cool. Because you are! *Blows kisses**