Do you own "TV pants"
- 25/11/2014 <--Prev : Next-->
When driving, do you strongly prefer right turns over lefts
Have you ever typed your birth year into an online form, then became startled when you had to scroll...and scroll...to reach that year
If so, pull on those stretchy pants, have a seat, and let me know I'm not alone here.
Because every day, it seems, I notice a tweak in my behavior, thoughts, or physical appearance. I buy a pair of tweezers to tuck in my purse (ladies, you know why).
At the gym, I hope a young male employee considers me a healthy mother figure. My legs are not resplendent in shorts.
I don't like where all this is leading.
Still, I've decided not to fight these tweaks. Why bother It would be like trying to put a newborn baby back where it came from. The road of life ultimately leads in one direction and I've reached the point where my age and the highway speed limit are the same number.
For now, I'm merely taking notes, such as these. Feel free to add your own.
I wash my hair every other day.
Every now and then after I've exited the house, I glance down at my legs to make sure I've switched out of my pajamas.
I've been called ma'am for enough years to know it's not accidental.
When shopping for a sympathy card, I buy two extras.
I follow routines so I don't misplace my car keys.
I count housecleaning as a workout.
Much of what I read seems feeble or recycled.
I choose a matinee over 8 p.m. Saturday every time.
I use the word "thing" whenever I can't remember the real noun. Which is often.
I call everyone 'sweetie' because I cannot remember their names....
My ideal night of "sleeping together" includes actual sleep.
I now understand my mother.
Balancing exercises are part of my routine workout.
My dentist is my son's age.
I have doctors (plural).
Swing doors are unaccountably heavy.
I wish there were recombobulation areas at the end of check-out lines.
As rites of passage go, accepting that you're probably in life's final third offers less a frisson than say, becoming a new parent or mastering potty training.
Some people are far cheerier about this personal transition than I am, even claiming that aging has liberated them. I suspect such folks are blessed with either better genetics or better medications than me.
Last month, I found a roll of foil in the freezer.
This morning, my mascara was inexplicably...oh never mind.
At least I know where my car keys are. They're on the kitchen counter in that...thing.