One thing I really will never recover from is the realization that I am an adult as in a grown up person. I never thought this would happen. I only realized when one day I was called 'ma'am' instead of 'miss'.
When exactly did this 'ma'am' transformation happen, what was the giveaway? Getting old is something that happens to other people, not me. I know at one point I saw visible evidence of aging (dark circles) around the eye area and almost immediately had them hoiked. Wrinkles can be de-wrinkled in minutes thanks to the miracle of dermatology and so as far as my constant battle with aging I believe I am winning, on the outside anyway, I can't speak for my insides. Several hundred birthdays ago I was slightly drunk during my speech and asked all my 'then' friends "What happened to all of you? You look so old have I been in a coma?" Some of them are no longer speaking to me. I then fell forward into my chocolate cake and had to be lifted out by the hair.
Clearly I'm in complete denial. Recently a woman told me she had three adult children and I responded with incredulous disbelief, "You have three kids?" It was my girlfriend who pointed out, so did I. It seems other people know how to act like thing called a grown up. Having coffee mornings where they don't digress from the topic of 'the children.' I know women in their 40s still blathering about how long their delivery took. Get over it! Exchanging phone numbers for kids party entertainers who in the spirit of wackiness pull live rabbits out of their pants. My idea of hell are those cocktail parties my parents used to have where you stand holding a drink and make small talk about absolutely nothing. I never know how or when you're supposed to end one conversation and then move on and start again. I wish we could be as honest as when we were kids and just blurt, "I want to go home I don't like you."
Dress-wise I go for the 14-16 year old range. I borrowed my daughter's thong - I can no longer find it. I'm going to need miners to go in there and dig it out. My look is Nikes and skinny jeans even though my stomach hangs over the top like a tutu made of flesh. My behind is on permanent display but at least I don't have to look at it. If I'm this deluded now imagine when I really hit the skids, I'll be the one wearing my incontinence pads at a jaunty angle and body surfing on my Zimmer frame. Wish me luck.
I'm on the road again this Autumn, and in Edinburgh this summer. You can find details here!
When exactly did this 'ma'am' transformation happen, what was the giveaway? Getting old is something that happens to other people, not me. I know at one point I saw visible evidence of aging (dark circles) around the eye area and almost immediately had them hoiked. Wrinkles can be de-wrinkled in minutes thanks to the miracle of dermatology and so as far as my constant battle with aging I believe I am winning, on the outside anyway, I can't speak for my insides. Several hundred birthdays ago I was slightly drunk during my speech and asked all my 'then' friends "What happened to all of you? You look so old have I been in a coma?" Some of them are no longer speaking to me. I then fell forward into my chocolate cake and had to be lifted out by the hair.
Clearly I'm in complete denial. Recently a woman told me she had three adult children and I responded with incredulous disbelief, "You have three kids?" It was my girlfriend who pointed out, so did I. It seems other people know how to act like thing called a grown up. Having coffee mornings where they don't digress from the topic of 'the children.' I know women in their 40s still blathering about how long their delivery took. Get over it! Exchanging phone numbers for kids party entertainers who in the spirit of wackiness pull live rabbits out of their pants. My idea of hell are those cocktail parties my parents used to have where you stand holding a drink and make small talk about absolutely nothing. I never know how or when you're supposed to end one conversation and then move on and start again. I wish we could be as honest as when we were kids and just blurt, "I want to go home I don't like you."
Dress-wise I go for the 14-16 year old range. I borrowed my daughter's thong - I can no longer find it. I'm going to need miners to go in there and dig it out. My look is Nikes and skinny jeans even though my stomach hangs over the top like a tutu made of flesh. My behind is on permanent display but at least I don't have to look at it. If I'm this deluded now imagine when I really hit the skids, I'll be the one wearing my incontinence pads at a jaunty angle and body surfing on my Zimmer frame. Wish me luck.
I'm on the road again this Autumn, and in Edinburgh this summer. You can find details here!
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