Here's your change, ma'am
You may have seen a link to this article going around on Facebook a few days ago. A lot of my friends were sharing it, particularly my childhood/high school friends . . . probably because we're all 43ish and the article describes many of us to a T.
A few years ago, I was watching "So You Think You Can Dance" (don't judge me) and became enamored with a dancer named Phillip Chbeeb. He was really talented and had lips that kinda made me swoon a little. I watched him dance and then at some point I came to the sad realization that . . . I am basically old enough to be his mother. I mean, he was born in 1988, the year I graduated high school, so, I mean, it's feasible. Every year I watch the show and the contestants stay the same age while I've morphed into an older (and apparently dirtier) old lady. :::sigh::::
Everything in the article is true, so true. While I do my best to avoid wearing pants with an elasticized waist, I will admit to having at least one pair of jeans that boasts a "comfort waistband." And yes, my contacts are bi-focals. Small print is a challenge. My optometrist recently had me try a new brand of bi-focal contacts. It was a disaster. I was sending crazy text messages to my friends and family because I couldn't really see my phone. I had a hell of a time setting the digital thermostat in our home. "I've either set it for 68 or 86," I told my husband. "It's hard to say."
My daughter is visiting my parents in Oklahoma right now. My mom showed my daughter a photo of me when I was a teenager. The kid didn't even recognize me. "She looks so young!" exclaimed my daughter. To her, there is no way I existed prior to May 3, 2005. She doesn't believe we were born the same day or anything like that, but she does seem to think that her dad and I materialized out of thin air and then showed up at the hospital that day to pick her up. But yes, I was young once. I wore acid wash jeans and other questionable styles. I did some ill-advised things to my hair. I dated wrongish boys and made bad decisions.
Then I graduated college, got a job, married a boy, bought a house, and fell into grown-uphood. And then, somewhere along the way, I shot past the mid-point of my life (there is no way I will live into my 80s, ya'll) and here I am . . . with my dramatically slower metabolism and my sensible shoes and my bad habits that are here to stay.
At yoga class yesterday morning, the instructor had us go from a standing posture (tadasana) into a squat. We all squatted down (we being a group of women in the age range of 30-55) and at least eight knees made loud popping noises. We all laughed. "Ah," I thought, "At least I am in good company."
A few years ago, I was watching "So You Think You Can Dance" (don't judge me) and became enamored with a dancer named Phillip Chbeeb. He was really talented and had lips that kinda made me swoon a little. I watched him dance and then at some point I came to the sad realization that . . . I am basically old enough to be his mother. I mean, he was born in 1988, the year I graduated high school, so, I mean, it's feasible. Every year I watch the show and the contestants stay the same age while I've morphed into an older (and apparently dirtier) old lady. :::sigh::::
Everything in the article is true, so true. While I do my best to avoid wearing pants with an elasticized waist, I will admit to having at least one pair of jeans that boasts a "comfort waistband." And yes, my contacts are bi-focals. Small print is a challenge. My optometrist recently had me try a new brand of bi-focal contacts. It was a disaster. I was sending crazy text messages to my friends and family because I couldn't really see my phone. I had a hell of a time setting the digital thermostat in our home. "I've either set it for 68 or 86," I told my husband. "It's hard to say."
My daughter is visiting my parents in Oklahoma right now. My mom showed my daughter a photo of me when I was a teenager. The kid didn't even recognize me. "She looks so young!" exclaimed my daughter. To her, there is no way I existed prior to May 3, 2005. She doesn't believe we were born the same day or anything like that, but she does seem to think that her dad and I materialized out of thin air and then showed up at the hospital that day to pick her up. But yes, I was young once. I wore acid wash jeans and other questionable styles. I did some ill-advised things to my hair. I dated wrongish boys and made bad decisions.
Then I graduated college, got a job, married a boy, bought a house, and fell into grown-uphood. And then, somewhere along the way, I shot past the mid-point of my life (there is no way I will live into my 80s, ya'll) and here I am . . . with my dramatically slower metabolism and my sensible shoes and my bad habits that are here to stay.
At yoga class yesterday morning, the instructor had us go from a standing posture (tadasana) into a squat. We all squatted down (we being a group of women in the age range of 30-55) and at least eight knees made loud popping noises. We all laughed. "Ah," I thought, "At least I am in good company."
 |
| Proof that I was young (and that I existed prior to 2005) |
Comments