Welcome to the, “I hope that was just a fart” years!
That was the advice given to me by my parents via a greeting card in celebration of my 49th birthday.
So now I’m thinking I need to be stockpiling granny panties in anticipation of hitting the big 5-0 next year.
On the one hand, I am completely haunted and terrified at the prospect of being half-a-century old. Every blank wall I look at has a big fat 5-0 staring right back at me.
Oddly, I’m starting to involuntarily take on behavior associated with “more mature” individuals.
For some unknown reason, I am completely fascinated with the wild life in my backyard.
Nesting birds and baby bunnies have brought out my inner-Beatrix Potter. Only, I don’t think Beatrix chased the bunnies in her backyard with an iPhone wearing only shape-wear and a dingy grey bath robe screaming, “Come little Peter, where’s my tiny Peter?”
I’ve also taken an interest in politics. Perhaps the interest may have come sooner if Alex P. Keaton, the politically obsessed teenager in the television show Family Ties, was my idol instead of Madonna in the 80’s.
It’s ironic that your stature may shrink the older you get, yet you have a birds-eye view of the world.
I understand why politically passionate senior citizens write chain-letter type emails in ALL CAPS. Partly, because they can’t see 12 point typeface anymore but mostly because they’re frustrated.
As a female, I never thought I’d have a receding hairline and lamb chop sideburns. A bonus for me that there are more male cosmetologists working at make-up counters now. I always thought they flocked to me because I look like my father. These days, they’re offering shaving tips with the anti-wrinkle cream samples.
My apron is becoming a wardrobe staple. It keeps my clothes clean while I cook and serves as a cute cover-up for my menopot. Are house dresses and a curly short perm next?
As a senior citizen who was schooled in the technology age, at least I have the ability to Outlook myself to schedule a fashion-forward change in my eyeglass frames.
So now, I’m at a fork in the road called 50. Wedged shoes, pill boxes and early bird specials can be foreseen in one direction while the cover of MORE magazine is visible in the other.
Though, I feel like I’ve been handed a gift – the gift of wisdom.
A gift you can only receive by living many years, learning from your mistakes and having access to Wikipedia.