Eat My Words

The words “not age appropriate” slipped out of my mouth before I could catch them.  Even if it had to do with 13 year-old girls wearing skirts so short that sitting down would be hazardous to their health, never mind what it is doing to 13 year-old boys, I admit to saying those six syllables.  Now, trying not to be hypocritical, I suppose it is time that I belly up to the bar and face my condition head on.

I have found over the years, that I am “not age appropriate”.  I never really felt the age that I was supposed to be chronologically.  When I was younger, I wanted to act, dress and be older.  Now that I am older, well… let’s just say I don’t feel like I am rapidly approaching 50.  My mind is saying one thing and my body is on a totally different track.  I wish the two would get it together.  There is a strange sense of humor that you need to find when you go clothes hunting and what you think will look hip and happening on you falls a little (okay, a lot) short of desired results.  Those black (of course, the color choice of svelte goddess’) stretchy pants start looking really good (for all occasions), you go for comfort over style and your mother seemingly was on the right track after all (remember the time she picked you up at school, with those polyester pants that you were so embarrassed of? Paybacks are hell…)

I am also struggling with my “not age appropriate” hair. Being a proper student of style etiquette (no white after Labor Day, purse and shoes must match) my dilemma of should I, or should I not, grow my hair longer before the age of no return, is haunting me. Someone (who is this masked man?), somewhere (come out and show yourself!), has defined that women over the age of 50 really shouldn’t be sporting longer “do’s”. I don’t have much time left and am decidedly going for a longer look.  Problem is, hair only grows so quickly and I have a finite amount of time to achieve my goal.  Meanwhile, I have to lose the bangs – they are way too obvious of my end pursuit.  As an aside, I am keeping my usual sun-kissed blondeness… I pay good money for that natural look, and expect that to stay with me until the end.

I also must admit that I danced with a snowman, in public, at the post office yesterday.  It wasn’t a real snowman (he wasn’t available), just a little round white guy dressed in an Oakland Raiders outfit, sitting on the counter, that when you squeezed his hand would swivel his hips (at least I think that was what it was) to the beat of the holiday diddy in his heart.  Actually, several of us were shakin’ it up. It was fun! It was liberating! There was a definite spirit of the season that acting “not age appropriate” can do for you.  I intend to extend this behavior for the next several weeks and see what happens.

Growing up may not be what it is cracked up to be and you definitely do not want to do it before its time.  I know, as an “adult” I have to show a good example and act responsibly in most areas, and I really do try, but sometimes… well, something just happens and I regress miserably back into a state of mind (or activity) that elicits warm fuzzies and happy times. I am not going to rush progress, I’ll let my hair grow out and find a few more snowmen to dance with.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.                      

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-