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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
You already are, darlin’.
My old man was hanging out with some of his geezer friends (they’re all 80-ish), when a gaggle of cute young girls came by.
Geezer: “If only I was 30 years younger.”
Old Man: “If you were 30 years younger, you’d still be 30 years too old.”
Haha! When I was 21 and in college, a prof asked me to translate a book with him, and we worked on it in the evenings. After a while, he wanted to start an affair. I was totally dumbfounded that this old geezer actually thought he had a chance with me. He was 34.
Maurice has a few comforting thoughts:
He could have used a few pointers from me.
Me too. I think it started after I got a subscription to National Review.
I was thinking the same thing.
Were you really 20?
RA – I called my sister at work and read your story to her – she howled – she said back in the day when in Houston, she went to the mall and stumbled into a Merle Norman store – they asked if she wanted a makeover so she said ok. She told me she came out looking like Cat Woman, but bought a makeup brush – ya – they made some money on her alright….My sister, who never throws anything useful away said she still has it – well made,. in her words ” a Fuller Brush for her cheeks.”
“Hey, that golf cart with the chrome wheels just drove by again.”
Hahaha! I’m glad I’m not the only one!
Should I mention the vintage Lingerie? Also from the 60s through 80s and the hats and gloves, and my Jazz sequined clothing, a red shimmy dress, the kilts and tartans. Gads, I may have a fortune in my closets! I never throw anything away.
I can’t wait for these pictures.
Love this post! A laffriot!
And yet, and yet….every third thought is the grave.
I used to say that I was surprised at the lengths women would go to to make themselves unattractive. Maybe it has something to do with advertising.
Well it’s like Betsey Johnson said: Women dress for other women. If they dressed for men, they’d just run around naked all the time.
I like your artwork, by the way. I assume it’s yours.
Yes. Thank you! I shouldn’t admit this on the Main Feed. oops
The first Ricochet meetup Concretevol and I went to was in Athens, GA. It’s where we first met Dave Carter and Grey Lady. We had dinner, and then moved to the kind of bar that had an upstairs with worn wooden floors and served beer. The place was right next to the UGA campus. We stayed until about midnight, and when we left, the streets were packed. We fell in behind an attractive young girl in a tight mini-dress. Concretevol commented that he’d reached the point in life where, instead of admiring her, he was glad she wasn’t his daughter.
Hahaha! I can relate.
Not me. I just hope I can keep up. Not as fast as I used to be.
Since we all have the AARP envelope story, here is mine.
The first AARP invitation arrived with a pile of other mail, so I didn’t get to it until I was in the house.
I ripped it to shreds as I shouted, “I can still do a one-and-a-half off the high dive!”
And as I slam-dunked it into the trashcan I added, “PIKED!”
I really hate it when I am filling out a survey or something and I have to check the box, “55 or older”. That can’t be me.
I hate that too. I used to be enrolled with a survey company. After I turned 55, suddenly every time they gave me a survey and I checked the age box on page one, I got a screen that said something like, “Thank you, but we have no further need of your input for this survey.” Nobody cares what I think anymore! WAH! Gah this is getting depressing.
I have suddenly found myself in the middle of my seventh decade.
For the most part, I don’t really mind. I have grandchildren (which are far and away the best part of getting old). They love me because I randomly give them dollars for no reason other than they like dollars.
I no longer have any great career goals. I work, and am happy that I still like it (most days).
But there are three disquieting things:
First, two or three years ago I began to notice (especially early in the morning) that when I look in the mirror, I see my father staring back at me (he was the best dad in the world, but it’s still a bit strange).
Second, I am occasionally overtaken by an overwhelming sense of nostalgia (especially when I watch old TV shows). In my case, it is tinged in melancholy (for a world I loved and will never see again).
Third (and related to no. 2), I keep seeing actors/actresses who are a decade younger than I am, and even they are looking a bit long in the tooth.
On the other hand, I am able to meet all of my daily hair care needs in under ten seconds.
Depressing? I have mentioned that my dad and his wife have a nice motor coach and they travel a lot. When they are somewhere reasonably close, they’ll invite me over to hang out.
Inevitably, we’ll be sitting around talking and some other RV-ers will walk up and join the conversation. No matter how I try to steer the conversation, it always goes in one of two directions: talking about medical issues they have, or people who have died recently. When you reach your late 70’s, that’s practically everything going on in your life.
It gets so dang depressing.
I’m also grateful I’m not here (yet).
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Yeah, it is tough to see like, sweet little Marie Osmond looking as old as my memory of my mother. Every actor I have liked over the years is now at least fifty, and the ones I grew up watching as a kid are all dead.
To go along with your number 3 there, I’ll go to a web site featuring pictures of actors and celebrities like OK! or E! or one of those, and I’ll look at 20 pictures, and I have heard of maybe 5 of them. Ditto sports. I see news about a baseball player or basketball player and I have never heard of them.
Haha! My aunt, may she rest in peace, was in a women’s group, mostly in their 70s and 80s, who did charity work, and they called themselves The Wild Bunch. They all met for breakfast every Tuesday, and they had one rule: Nobody was allowed to talk about their bodies.
I was in Pinecone Research for 20 years and you may not know this but occasionally I might give my opinion on a subject :-) so I like doing surveys. I finally quit Pinecone because I was seeing that ‘get lost geezer’ screen too often. Don’t they understand that 55 is the new 40?