Aging seems to be a bit of a theme at the moment. I had an email conversation during the week with The Chicken's Consigliere about it, Little Miss Sunshine and I have been discussing it and then Jenn over at Life in Bonetown posted this video which is absolute gold. I'm jumping on the bandwagon because I haven't had a decent rant in weeks ( that wasn't kitchen related) and I had two age related experiences this week that mildly peeved me off and confirmed once and for all the world no longer views me as a spring chicken and has no qualms about shoving it in my face.
I don't think of myself as old. Until this week I didn't even consider myself middle aged, despite being a grandmother. A. Very. Young. Grandmother. In my own head, I'm still somewhere in my early 30's, lithe , gorgeous, hip and totally down with it, and with a world of possibility at my feet. There is no way I look my age. I'm still trendy, don't dress like a nanna, refuse to let my hair go grey and still use moisturiser daily. I haven't let myself go (much ) but have clearly been kidding myself the world views me the same way I view myself.
I was in a shopping centre on Wednesday looking in Noni B, an upmarket ladies wear store to kill some time when a sales assistant in her mid 50's came up to me and commented on the dress I was looking at. Conversation ensued -on her side because she's hoping to make a sale, and on mine because I'm too polite to say "Lady, I'm not going to buy anything today because I just installed a new kitchen and we're livin' off credit cards". And then she started telling me about the new range they've just got in that is "fresh" and "new" and "so suitable for ladies of our age" and I seriously wanted to punch her in the face. Given that this woman was in high school when I was born and was probably having her first child when I started Grade 1, I was mildly offended. At that point any vague hope she had of a sale galloped out the door.
Scenario Two: While I was at Lincraft on Thursday night getting my crafting supplies I ran into someone I worked with about 20 years ago. After we had exchanged the usual pleasantries, (which included catching up on our respective kids doings, and trading notes on divorces, births and deaths) she commented "oh you're here getting craft stuff? -we're at that age where we're getting into the crafty stuff". The at that age part is in italics because it's important. For me that was the key part of the sentence.
My first thought was "No shit Sherlock-I'm in a craft store , holding a 48 x 60 canvas , 6 bits of scrap booking paper, 4 metres of 250 cm wide bamboo batting and the spray can of glue I have tucked under my armpit because I've run out of available hands makes me look like I'm a freaking kleptomaniac - good observation that I'm here getting craft stuff" . I am usually quite testy by Thursdays and it had been a particularly long day. In my 20's I would have actually said this out loud, which means I should get some credit for having at least developed tact along with wrinkles.
My second thought was - who says aged people are the only people being crafty. I know a lot of younger people who do craft stuff. And last time I checked there was no law that said you to be over 40 to wield scrap booking paper, or knit a beanie, or handle modge podge.
My third thought was "Exactly what age are you referring to and why do you even think I'm there along with you when I clearly recall you had high school aged children when I gave birth".
I've been thinking about all of this. Apparently it's socially acceptable to intimate these days I am an old hag. Apparently I look my age , or worse still ten years older than I actually am. Apparently I have reached the 40-59 year age bracket that you find on survey forms. Apparently I am meant to be behaving in a certain way , wearing certain clothes and undertaking certain activities because I am no longer "young".
I've decided I must need a face lift - and I'm broke. If you can help by sparing a few bucks , email me and I'll give you my Paypal address. According to the world, I look like a train wreck and it's OK to comment on it.
Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to wander off and make a hair appointment. And go roller skating and then hit a night club and get drop down dead drunk. In a mini skirt and ridiculously high heels. I refuse to allow the world to pigeon hole me because of a number.