The Katywompus Journal Observing Life's Little Quirks by Diane Moody |
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Entry #14: Cue the Balloons!
I'm about to turn a milestone in my life, so I thought I'd invite you along for the ride. Many of you have already taken this trip. You've been there, done that. No doubt you'll have little patience for my self-indulgence. Others haven't given it a second thought, nor will they for many years to come. But at some point in our lives, we all step over this line in the sand, because the alternative means you're dead. Not much of a choice, is there? Next week (gulp) I'm turning 50. I'm still struggling with the whole concept. I honestly didn't think it was going to bother me in the least. Folks have always told me the fifties are the best decade of life because you finally, FINALLY reach the point in your life when you flat out don't care what anyone else thinks of you anymore. And I must say, the freedom of such a mindset is irresistible, especially for this once-upon-a-time painfully shy young girl. But as the year progressed, January morphing into November, I began to notice a sense of dread drifting through my soul. Why is that? My birthday will be a day just like any other day, right? I'll wake up (hopefully!) and put on the coffee, watch the news, and get on with my life in my normal routine. Maybe I'll go out for dinner with the family and splurge for that Ultimate Chocolate Chocolate Cake at O'Charley's. So why all the heebie geebies on crossing this half-century threshold? It's that whole growing old thing, of course. It's the aches and pains creeping up on me. Last week, I wrenched my back, hurt my foot, pulled a muscle in my knee and suffered a horribly throbbing finger. I felt 110. Then there's the loss of my 20-20 eyesight. I now have three pairs of reading glasses because I lost my prescription bifocals right after I got them. There's an AARP membership notice in my mailbox, and I'm on a first-name basis with my pharmacist. I'm funding his kids' college education. All four of them. But the scariest sign of old age is the memory loss. I love that forgetful little fish Dory in the movie Finding Nemo. Her lapses in memory are adorable! But it's not so funny when I can't find my keys (again) or lose my thought mid-sentence (again). It's so frustrating to be in the middle of an explanation only to . . . ? But the scariest sign of old age is - oh, wait, I already said that? Didn't I? Oh, never mind. Let's switch gears. Why is it men age gracefully, growing more "handsome" with each passing year, yet women just grow OLD? Think Sean Connery. Think Harrison Ford. Now think Carol Burnett. Mary Tyler Moore. Have you seen them lately? These women remind me of the Joker in Batman the Movie. Talk about scary! Men with salt and pepper hair are "debonair." Nowadays, even bald men are considered sexy! But what about aging women? We call them "little blue-haired old ladies." Whereas wrinkles add charm and "character" to a man, they are strictly forbidden on women. Thus, those frightening adventures in plastic surgery, or need I mention the burgeoning number of Botox babes? It's just not right. And then there's the dreaded 50th birthday parties. I must admit I've hosted a few myself. We load up the gift table with hilarious gag gifts like Depends, laxatives, and denture creams. We sign sarcastic cards about growing feeble and senile. I used to find it all so amusing. Hmm. Now I'm beginning to think those products are actually quite practical, all things considered . . . I did find it somewhat interesting to read about things that happened the year of my birth. It was the year JFK and Jackie tied the knot. Who knew? Cheez Whiz, Saran Wrap, and Contact paper hit the market. TV Guide was born and Walt Disney released Peter Pan. It was the first year the Academy Awards were televised, with From Here to Eternity taking home the Oscar for Best Picture. The first open-heart surgery was performed in 1953, and the first humans reached the top of Mt. Everest. And let's not forgot that was the year Chevrolet rolled out the first Corvette. I think it's only fitting my husband should surprise me with a 2003 Vette, don't you? Black though they be, And light all the candles, Quite a torchfest to see! Then sing me the song, As I blow out the fire, But mention I'm fifty, And I'll call you a liar! Come gather 'round all those I hold dear, (But remind me again, why is it we're here?) Click HERE to send Diane an email. She welcomes your comments and suggestions. She's Flying the Coop Blessed are the poor... Back to School It All Started With Eve It's Almost Here! Forget About Weapons of Mass Destruction - let’s Talk Hormones The Other "W" "If only I could..." "Put Down That Remote and Step Away From the TV!" Take This Job and Love It! As the Stomach turns! Pet Peeves |
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