Well, now that I'm in my 53s I should be facing facts.
1. I'm never going to be six feet tall unless I wear really, really high platform shoes (see also #4) and I'll never be an international flight attendant, well, probably not. But that's okay. I don't like serving food anyway and I don't like flying unless I'm in Royal Ultra Supreme Class.
|Thrifted hand-knit poncho with caterpillar fringe, never worn, with new tags attached. $5, My Sister's Closet.|
2. South becomes a popular destination. Our face, our boobs, our ass, even our frickin' knees, all go there - but please not our 'tude!
3. People go to Florida (or another warm southern place), at least many CARP (Canadian Association of Retired Persons) seasonally migrate south, no longer to spawn but merely to frolic, if health insurance and exchange rates allow. (But don't go too far south; that's called the everlasting pit of damnation.)
Considering how many CARP head to warmer climates every winter, I often wonder why my country doesn't trade some awful Canadian place, definitions to vary, for a tropical island. Of course we couldn't take one over by force; we'd be too busying apologizing for our aggression.
|Jimi Hendrix T in dark olive, Hilfiger thrifted pants, magic loupe, thrifted coat. On my way home today, there was an impromptu conference about my coat among strangers on the corner. We all parted with huge grins on our faces.|
4. I'm supposed to be grown up, although ironically I'm probably shrinking, literally. And I'm sure to be grounded even more as my ability to wear heels (and be six feet tall) diminishes. Every time I get ready to go out there is a massive General Assembly of my mind and body. My feet and brain get three votes and my vision only gets one. Why? Because it's rigged, that's why!! I think we need to take someone down. Or build a frickin' wall, I'm not sure how that would work.
5. I'm probably as mature as I'm going to get. (Stop your tsk'ing!) Yup, I've already mentioned the words boobs and ass here. I never minded those Ps and Qs or Ts and As. But I'm probably as polite as the next CARP; it helps when I don't talk and I slow down my movement by 50 percent, like a fish in cold water. But I do have manners. I rank right up there with the other bottom-feeders.
|Full impact photo with mug-shot face. Hair about 6 inches tall because I'm not getting any taller, ya know.|
But all of these facts are nothing, nothing, if you consider that we're being whipped around the Earth at 10,000 mph day after day after day. It's a wonder we can function at all. Ever thought about that?
I guess the best way of dealing with facts is to picture a dog with its head sticking out a pickup truck window, tongue wabbling, ears flapping. All that at only 30 mph. Heck, when we're bootin' down the highway at 60 mph we should be three times the dog, our heads hanging out our windows, hair getting messed up, drooling at each other and running out of wiper fluid it's so gosh-darn drooly out there. There should be a category in the traffic report: heavy drool, Hwy 99.
|If I said my tongue was like a lizard, would you believe me? Now, get that thought right out of your head this instant!!!|
Considering our earlobes don't stop growing, or our noses, every year we seem to be moving closer to our doggy friends who know how to take advantage of a good thing. I'm in my 53s and I want to be more like that dog (which would make me just over 7 years old in dog years, heh). I may not get any taller or smarter or nicer, and that's a fact I can take if I can live like a dog.
|The coffee after the coffee walk. Wearing my new thrifted poncho.|
6. Proofreading and editing are for wusses. Heh.
I'm linking this up with the usual suspects:
Patti, Not Dead Yet Style, Visible Monday - Rumour has it there will be spiked punch? Bwahaha!! You probably think I've already been there.
Catherine, Not Dressed as Lamb, #iwillwearwhatilike
Anne, SpyGirl, 52 Pick-me-up: Electric Blue / Impatience (my socks qualify)
Have you got any new facts to add to my list?