How many of you have had these experiences?
What’s next?
First bifocals.
First time someone younger than you calls himself old.
First time you are older than all the people you can find in the advertisements in the magazine you’re reading.
First time everybody else in a business meeting is younger than you.
First colleague less than half your age.
First colleague born after you joined the company.
First time you think your friend’s daughters are hot.
First time you think your daughter’s friends are hot.
First time your doctor blames your age for some complaint rather than fixing it.
First time you have to toss a dictionary, one that you bought, because it is too out of date.
If you are guessing, all these have happened to me. I can’t wait to see what’s next.
Anybody here get big purple splotches on your arms? My dermatologist said that “as we grow up” our skin gets thinner and easier to bruise. I can absentmindedly scratch my arm and have purple skin for a week. It’s called Bateman’s Purpura or something like that.
I can quite decide whether telling you all things I’ve learned from taking care of my 89 year old grandmother about aging would terrify you too much knowing what’s to come or make you feel better knowing that things really aren’t so bad now. I know the knowledge does make me both fearful and thankful. As Calvin said, life’s never so bad that it can’t get worse.
My mom still has her college dictionary, partly for it’s amusing definition for “computer” – a person who computes, of course! The book dates from around 1970. Outdated dictionaries can be fun.
As for the rest, well, I’m 27. But it does strike me as damn weird that I’m getting close to 30 since I feel about twelve most days.
What’s even funnier to me whiterabbit is that if I saw you on the street, you’d probably look about twelve to me.
That brings me to my observation, ever had the experience of the (pick one) doctor, financial adviser, accountant, etc. walking into the room and you think “what’s this kid doing in here, they can’t even be old enough to drive?” Of course at that point you say to yourself “self, you are one ooold fart, get a grip.” Then you start trying to mentally compute how old this professional must really be what with school and all and by that point you have completely missed everything this person has said so far so you have to ask them to repeat it. This is when the young professional decides that you are not only hopelessly old, but senile as well.
…and then the medications start to accumulate, and you swear the vitamins must be humping with the aspirin because you certainly don’t remember how on earth you ended up acquiring all those pills, and then you begin to wonder if your spotty vision is the side effect of the meds or if you’re just finally going blind or senile or both and holy crap what’s that pain in my left testicle…
You can reread anything you’ve ever read and it’s all new again.
You are thrilled beyond reason when you get carded at Fred Meyer going through the check-out with a bottle of wine. (Honest to God, this happened to me yesterday and I’ll be boring everyone with it for months to come. What could she have been thinking? I’m 48.)
I´m 24 but I guess I look older than that. It has happened several times that a teenager girl approaches me and asks me “Could you tell me the time, SIR?” WTF!!! Sir? SIR???
Just because my foreline is bigger than it was :weaps: and I got white hairs here and there, and wrinkles around my eyes… oh, never mind.
I’m a legal secretary. It occurred to me recently that every attorney I’ve worked for from five years ago until now has been younger than me, and they look to me for guidance on how to do things. I can’t tell you how incredibly depressing this is. I used to be the young chickie that attorneys liked to train, and unless I stop and remember, this is how I still mentally see myself.
…and then you bang your knee on the desk and three days later it still hurts like a be-atch, but you still insist on trying to mow that gigantic friggin’ yard (why the f*ck did we buy this place anyway) and then not only your knee hurts, but your back starts darting I-hate-yous to your brain so you go to the aforementioned pharmacy, cursing because some inconsiderate asshole used up all the Aleve–oh wait, that was me the last time I cracked my knee on that stupid computer desk, so you take something just a little bit stronger (Percoset), but it doesn’t work as fast as it used to since you put on that fifty pounds or so, so you wash it down with a few shooters of scotch and wait for morning to hit you like five pounds of shit in a two-pound bag…
Your mother was in college around 1970, or even after? Reminds of George Burns who said to the gorgeous young thing on a TV show. “If only I were 20 years younger. I’d ask your grandmother for a date.”
This is not good. The answer is: wise up and get someone else to do your yardwork. There are thousands of youngsters who’d gladly do it for a reasonable sum of money. Probably about what you have to pay for the Percoset. Most of them like driving riding mowers anyway, and if you don’t have a riding mower, hell it’s like a workout to them. And they need the work. You need the work done. Sit back on your porch, take a sip of that scotch, and watch. It’s called trickle-down economics. Trust me.
