Get back in your box Baby Boomers! How dare you try to escape.
One of the greatest challenges Baby Boomers face as we age is how to dress ourselves without looking frumpy or like a wrinkled teenie bopper with tattooed legs (if you’re lucky enough to have spider veins).
It is like finding buried treasure when we actually stumble upon a pair of jeans that fit properly, or a pair of high heels you won’t tumble off of and break an ankle. Wearing matching ace bandages on your ankles is a prudent idea whose time has come. (This also makes people think you are athletic.)
Is it just me or does it seem as if men suffer from hearing loss 10 times more than the women in their lives? That’s certainly true of the men with whom I associate– including my two sons who habitually complain of not being able to hear out of whichever side I’m sitting on.
So our plan to go motorcycle riding didn’t pan out the way we planned and my pants leg got caught in the spokes of Tinker’s BMW bike. Marie and I had what we once might have called a “blast” this weekend in Memphis while we were trying to prove that aging can be exquisitely wonderful and excruciatingly painful – all at the same time!
Given the struggling economy and a nagging fear that my retirement fund will run out before I do, I’ve reluctantly decided to reenter the work force. Yes, I’m going to become a productive citizen again – although I won’t actually be producing anything you can see, touch or eat. This job is uniquely suited to my talents and experience and I was tickled to death to be picked from several hundred applicants.
Ever since I got a paddling from my first grade teacher, I’ve followed the rules of “fitting in” obsessively – no cutting up in line, no talking with your mouth full, and no running with scissors. I subscribe to the old adage “pretty is as pretty does,” and the biggy – keep up with those snooty Joneses at all costs.
Hey, not only did I keep up with them, I BECAME one of them. Little good it did me. Suddenly I arrive at the Middle Ages too repressed to say “boo” without blushing. My entire wardrobe is black, white and gray – depressing and lackluster. I do love the color purple but I was led to believe the color was garish and generally worn by floozies. I had no idea what a floozy was but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to become one. Continue reading