I will be fifty years old next month. At the optometrist yesterday, I decided to smash it into a decade of frolic and fun.The eye doctor told me that for a woman in her fifties, I have amazingly good vision. Not only do I not need reading glasses, but I have retained my life-long dedication to 20-20 vision. All I had to do was show up, sit, and read lines of letters. Now I'm amazing. It is official because a doctor said so.
While I'm still in my forties, I have a month to plan what other brilliant feats I can muster until I hit the jackpot of being in my sixties. For the ten years that I will be fifty-something:
I'll still be able to drive, take out the trash, and feed the cats. When I take a Pilates class, others will oohh and aww at my abilities. I can hear them now, "Will you look at that, she can even carry her own mat from the car to the gym. Sure hope I'm as in that good of shape when I'm that old."
Oh, wait! I could be a mentor! Tell people how to run their lives, boss around service personnel, inform house cleaners where the dirty spots are they've missed. Everyone will want my opinion. I'll be an elder, after all. Is there anything you want me to advise you on? Being half-way to one hundred, I pretty much know everything there is to know about everything.
Wow, and think what I can do with my diet and exercise regime. For years now, I've suffered through cardio classes, healthy organic foods, vitamins. All to look good for a woman in her forties. But fifties? If I stay within a hundred pound radius of my target weight, I'll be under the category of hot bod for an old lady. I can taste those chocolate caramels now. Hello ice cream, good bye tofu.
I've heard it's an insult to say that someone looks good for their age. People have their head screwed on wrong. What it really is is an invitation to look drab, frumpy, and completely out of style. Wear thirty year old purple sweat pants, and be a classic. Ugly shoes, and you're practical. Gray hair, and you're natural. Prints, solids and striped clothing combinations, and you're eccentric. When you are an old woman, fashion follows you no matter what you throw on your body every morning.
My older brother, once again has the advantage over me. As he recently turned fifty-five, he gets a senior discount. Everywhere he goes, clerks will be tossing him free money. You'd think I'd get over the sibling rivalry thing. But every time I try, there it is again. He gets ten percent off, I get nothing. Good thing I love that guy. Otherwise, the five year difference could bring down my decade of wanton wildness.
Hmmm, wonder if I could get the neighbor kid to mow my lawn and take out the trash? I mean, I am old enough to be his aunt by now.
Cheerio, I'm off to eat an extra cheese pizza and guzzle a jug of soda. Maybe I could get my brother to go. We can use his discount at the restaurant.
The mysterious older woman