Everyone bemoans getting old. And, from what I hear, it’s really not that much fun. According to my father, getting old ‘isn’t for wussies’. If the minor aches and pains (and way, way worse hangovers) are any indication, that is probably true. My question is—When Did I Stop Caring That I Am Getting Old? Getting old seems to require a certain amount of looking stupid, i.e., comfy shoes vs. cute; protective gear for recreational activities, and looking like a tourist while being a tourist (guidebook, tennis shoes, big bag of supplies).
I remember one of the first indications that I was nearing the end of my ‘prime.’ I was having my floors refinished (you really take a look at the amount of furniture you think you need when you have to cramp an entire house’s collection into two rooms), so I had to find another place to spend a couple of days. One of my friends was super sweet and came to the rescue. As an added bonus, she had an actual guestroom (and bathroom!) I should say that my husband and I discovered the value of having an actual guest bed during a trip to Paris New York , only more expensive. Her 800 sq ft apartment did have a guest bed—a flippy couch (more commonly called a ‘flip n fuck’, but I’m attempting to keep this blog classy)—complete with metal bars that bisected the “mattress”…conveniently digging into our backs. So you can understand my excitement at an entire guest suite. After we arrived at our friend’s house, they took us upstairs to show us said guestroom, etc. It was gorgeous with a custom bedspread, shiny cherry furniture, matching nightstands with lamps that coordinated with the bedspread, and beautiful custom made drapes! The thing that most caught my attention, though, was the drapes. Or more specifically, what the drapes surrounded—CUSTOM MADE WOODEN BLINDS! SWOON!! During the next few days, my friend showed me all kinds of treasures: Beautiful jewelry, designer jeans, Ridel wineglasses… you can imagine the rest. Confronted with all of those riches, the blinds stayed with me the longest. It was the blinds that caused me to say to her that we ‘might be in fight’ because of my green eyed jealousy. It was the blinds that gave me that catch in the throat, and the blinds that kept me up at night, dreaming of my house with custom blinds…
A popular topic after the holidays is what Santa brought (this is not a politically correct blog. We are Catholic and Santa visits our house. If you do not have Santa as a visitor, please substitute appropriately). Sometimes, ‘Santa’ means ‘husband’, and I found myself in a conversation of “If My Husband Got Me ‘X’ For Christmas I Would Kill Him.” The usual gifts were mentioned—vacuums, lawn mowers, any sort of electric tool, hammers, and screw drivers. Oddly, I found myself thinking, “Hey! some of those things might not be so bad!” I mean, I would LOVE a new vacuum! And, if my husband got more tools he could finally knock a few things off the ol’ Honeydo List! (My husband is a wonderful man who does check things off the list. However, we sometimes have a timing discrepancy) I sensed that I was alone in this line of thinking, so I nodded agreeably (yes, it is possible for me nod agreeably and not to open my mouth, even though I might not have a tremendous amount of practice at it). As the conversation progressed, the ladies were getting more and more worked up. Finally, the straw that broke the camel’s back: One woman exclaimed that her husband had the gall to suggest that Santa could leave a new washer and dryer! Everyone gasped indignantly—except for me. I was busy daydreaming about a brand new, shiny, front loading washer and its matching dryer in my laundry room (which is the corner of my kitchen sort of behind the fridge, cordoned off by the baby gate, which is necessary to keep the kid out of the cat’s litter box, which is also in said ‘room’). The ladies looked at me, waiting for my (classic Julia) snarky comment. And they got a comment alright… I demanded to know if this lady was crazy! I mean—a new washer AND dryer!! WOW!! The ladies were, um, dismayed at my lack of fight for their cause.
The most interesting part of this getting old business that I have experienced so far is that, as I mentioned, I don’t care. AT ALL. I always figured that when the time came, I would so mad at myself for picking comfy instead of cute shoes… but I’m not (and the people within five miles of me are so thankful as well. Especially my husband.) I look forward to the “oldies” weekends on the radio station! I still choose restaurants based on the atmosphere, as I did in the past. Only now, I want quiet and not busy/crowded/loud music/drinks, etc.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m betting it will include more comfy shoes, yelling at young people, telling the same story like a broken record (no hope in this department as my father has taken this trait to new levels), and, hopefully, custom blinds. Oh, and a new, top front loading washer and dryer.
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