Soapbox

O Time too Swift!

      "Uh oh…" Ted said as he shut the front door. I looked up from the bread I was kneading.
    "What is it?"
    "You’re… gonna want to sit down." he said solemnly, looking at the stack of mail in his hand.
    "What?!" I demanded, wiping my hands on a towel and feeling a growing sense of unease.
    "Don’t say I didn’t warn you." he said as he held out an envelope. "Your AARP card is here."

  "What??!!" I shrieked, and he laughed. "No!" I threw the dishtowel over my face. "Noooo! Those bastards!! Why are they doing this to me?!" Reluctantly I took the proffered envelope and regarded it dubiously.
     "Card enclosed?? I didn’t ask them for any stupid card! "
     "Aw Trace, you should get the card. You can carry it in your wallet, and, you know, get discounts and stuff" he said, grinning with delight.
    "On stuff like on dinner at 4 PM and funeral urns? No thanks! Honest to Pete- what makes them think I want to join their stupid club anyway?"

    And I had been having such a nice day! Seriously, I think they have a lot of damn nerve sending a young, vital, happening gal like me a retirement card!! For God’s sake, I’m only… oh holy heck, I’m almost 50. OK, but do they have to rub it in?

  Forget all that baby-boomer crap about how "50 is the new 40" Nuh uh. I’m here to tell ya: fifty is still fifty!! Fifty is half-way to 100! Fifty is "older adult", osteoporosis and bladder control commercials.  At fifty you are "a woman of a certain age" and described as "handsome" instead of pretty. (Rats. I was still working on attaining that pretty thing, and now it’s gone forever) Fifty is a poodle perm hair-do, elastic-waist slacks and velcro shoes.

   You know, I don’t mind the wrinkles so much, or the occasional grey hair. The saggy eyelids are a bit of drag- I always thought my eyes were my best feature. But it’s not like I’m the only one so afflicted: at least my beautiful sisters have aged along with me.  I miss having babies, but I truely enjoy the freedom of having adult children who can drive themselves places and show me how to text. I can still climb mountains with my husband and run up a flight of stairs without really thinking about it. So far, fifty isn’t that bad.

   What I do mind  are the salesclerks calling me "dear" like I"m senile… and my propensity for forgetting names that makes me worry that perhaps am! I mind that it’s so hard to find attractive clothes that fall somewhere between teenaged clingy and old lady polyester.
    I mind that I keep hearing myself saying things like "When I was your age…" to my daughter, and that college kids today have "Ugly 80’s" parties the way  we used to have "50’s dances. (Not that the 80’s weren’t ugly! whoo boy!) I mind having to hand my beeping cell phone to my daughter and beg, "Make it be quiet!"
    I mind all the commercials for miracle creams that promise "Just use this and you’ll be young forever!" as if aging skin is a disease…and I very much mind that I want to run out and buy them! I mind these stupid glasses that I have to wear to read anything and the way I have to peer over them to see across the room.
    And most of all, I hate that I don’t feel old–that is, older. I always assumed that by the time I turned 50, I’d be adjusted to the idea, but I’m not! I get up and head out into the world and feel like exactly the same person I was 25 years ago. It’s only when I see myself reflected in the attitude of those around me that I realize that I am not (at least, not to them).
    Or,  when I get a freaking AARP card in the mail!

    Well I’m not a retired person. I don’t need your  American Association, your magazine and your Medicare lobby, thanks so much. You can keep your membership card, and your discount on heart pills and dentures and funeral plans. I suppose there are a few people my age ready for the blue-plate special and retirement in Boca, but I am not one of them.

  Heck, I’m only fifty!  I’m only half-way to 100, and have you looked at my dad lately?  Man, if he’s any indication, I have a long way to go to old age. There is still lots of time to do all the stuff I haven’t yet done, and fix some of the things I did wrong.
    So don’t take it personally, but I won’t be requesting my membership kit just yet. I think I’ll go program an electronic device, and put on my tight hip-hugger jeans, call a friend and tell them a bawdy joke, and then maybe I’ll do some sit-ups.

    Just because I can.