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On Being Over 40 okay 50 I mean 60
Today’s topic is “Getting Older.” Not that I am or anything. Age cannot wither me, nor custom stale my infinite variety. I have many ways of staying engaged.
For instance, recently I went to a department store to treat myself to some shopping. This usually puts me in a good mood. But that day, I made the mistake of stopping at a cosmetics counter manned by a young woman wearing way too much eye makeup. I swear that girl was wearing every product they make, all at the same time. Her eyes looked like two tarantulas.
I didn’t stare, however, being the lady that I am. Instead I was perusing the items in the glass case, minding my own business, when Tarantula Eyes asked me if I would like to have “a makeover.” I just looked at her. I? A makeover? She thinks I need a makeover? Excuse me? I took her by the shoulders and shook her while shouting “Are you serious right now? I will have you know that when I was your age, I looked better than you will ever look in your wildest dreams, you little snot!”
No, ha ha, I didn’t really do that. But I wanted to. Aside from the fact that it was insulting to imply that I was in need of a makeover, did she actually believe I’d allow anyone with her obvious lack of taste to come anywhere near my face?
I mean, look at yourself! False eyelashes before 5 pm, chartreuse eye shadow with sparkles in it, black eyeliner in that “cat’s eye” fashion which makes the person look like a fugitive from a 1963 Dean Martin movie, and two round blots of bright pink blusher. She looked like a puppet. Anyway, I politely said “No, thank you” and continued on my way to the shoe department. I love shoes. Shoes never betray you. They always fit no matter how fat the rest of you gets.
Just when I was starting to recover from the ignominy of that incident, I was sitting here on the sofa watching a movie with my dog, minding my own business, when the phone rang. It was a local number, nothing to alert me that it might be a telemarketer, but it was.
It was a recording of a man’s voice saying in a real cheery tone, “Hello, Senior!” Even though I knew it was a recording, I shouted into the phone, “Don’t call me a Senior! And never call me again! What is wrong with you?!”
I was so mad I decided I needed to go outside and get some air, so I walked out and got the mail. Big mistake. It was all junk mail, and two of them were designed to remind me that I have one foot in the grave. One was an offer for a free hearing test, and the other was selling cemetery plots. I am not even kidding. By the end of the day, I wanted to hit someone with my cane, and I don’t even have one.
“You don’t stop laughing when you grow old, you grow old when you stop laughing.” ― George Bernard Shaw
“Twenty-three is old. It’s almost 25, which is like almost mid-20s.” ― Jessica Simpson
Published in Humor
Funny you should say that, because my third sentence in the post above (“Age cannot wither me, nor custom stale my infinite variety”), is from Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra:
From Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, 1606:
You are a dead man.
You lack credibility on this. You’ve already promised to kill me more than once.
Hahaha lucky for you you’re so cute.
Kaylett should be back in Montana this weekend to teach me to photo and post on my new iPhone.
You will love it! FYI, I think when you upload photos directly from an IPhone, they come out sideways. I made a folder on my desktop named “IPhone Pictures,” and if I want to post one, I first move it from the IPhone to that folder, and then it uploads correctly.
Are you offering me a part on The Walking Dead? Contact my agent.
So funny! When I turned 50, literally the next day I started receiving AARP mail, hearing aid and Huv-Around offers, free diabetic supplies and discounts on funeral arrangements. I thought am I on some sort of list or something?! I was furious and tore it all up. Then when my eye doctor said to another patron, oh if you’re an AARP member you get 20% off glasses, I went home and signed up. I whip it out at restaurants, and the newsletters are actually interesting. When Valerie Bertinelli and Tom Cruise showed up on the covers, I thought when did they get old?
Kay – you have a gold mine! Vintage is in and very desirable on eBay – you could rake in the dough! Or send the stuff to me!
Haha! I started getting AARP mail when I turned 50 also. My husband of 20 years was 8 years younger than me, so I always threw it away before he saw it ha. Who needs those pesky reminders?
I’ve been getting AARP mail since I was in my 20s.
Context is everything.
I just remembered that a year ago when I was atthe theater buying a movie ticket, the young girl there asked me if I wanted the senior rate. *facepalm*
” . . .you grow old when you stop laughing . . . .” umm . . . and having that drink at night? :)
Right Angles – you’re a treasure. I kept wanting to respond to every hilarious line in there. And those pictures!
I’m sorry that this stirred up old painful memories, Gramps.
Hahaha! Thank you. Yep that drink at night can help a lot.
Ha! Back in my day…
I had the same reaction when I turned 55 and looked at the Senior menu at Perkins – I thought, wait, that’s not a discount, you just think seniors don’t eat much. Do I look like a [coc] bird to you? But I told my wife I was too young to order off the senior menu.
A few years back (when I was still in my “early” 40s) I was going through a rough time personally – divorce with two young kids, out of work at depths of recession, etc. etc. Anyway, the stress of it all must have made its way to my outward appearance because not once, but twice (!), when out with my sister, I was asked if she were my daughter. Granted, she is 12 years younger, but still! The point at which I decided to shape up, both inside and out, was when I accidentally went shopping at the grocery store during its weekly senior citizen discount day. Already at my wit’s end dealing with a store crowded with folks who misunderstood that just because those over a certain age were permitted a discount on their food stuffs didn’t mean they were the only ones permitted in the store, I approached the youngish clerk to pay. She looked at me, smiled sweetly and eagerly asked if I was a senior. I stared at her a second and then, smiling just as sweetly, responded, “Do you mean a senior in high school? Oh no, but thank you! I graduated several years ago.”
OMG The “Hello, Senior!” guy just called again.
Since turning 50 I’ve been getting emails for an over-50 dating service. First of all, my wife really frowns on the idea of me dating (I know, she’s like a female Mike Pence!). And if I ever was dumb enough to go down that road . . . I don’t want someone my age.
Hahaha
A dear friend used to say that he wanted to be caught in the act with a 25 year old redhead and shot dead at 99 by her jealous husband. Talk about someone not your own age!
Or, as per Roz on Frasier, die in your sleep in your waterfront house in Hawaii, and your husband is so grief-stricken he has to drop out of college.
Sounds good but I’d prefer if she were single and I just died of a heart attack in flagrante delicto. I guess it’s not a delicto if the girl’s single, eh? Just flagrante.
He’s stalking you!
Heh. ?
Wow even my caliber of stalkers has gone down.
If you want stalkers, move to the Villages. The guys who aren’t stalking, will be staring and thinking, “If only I was 60 years younger”.
A brilliant plan. I can be the belle of the ball.