Mrs. Robinson, You’re Trying To Seduce Me, Aren’t You?
There’s a song I can’t get out of head...”The Old Gray Mare Just Ain’t What She Used To Be.” I’m not all that old but, facts are facts and the fact is that I really aint what I used to be. You couldn’t really call me ancient. Let’s just say that at this point I’ve got a lot of perspective. I admit that the morning when I spotted the dreaded first signs of aging in my bathroom mirror I thought that maybe my goof-ball children played some sort of cruel “Draw Wrinkles On Mom’s Neck” prank. Needless to say, they didn’t wash off and that was my introduction to the world of crepe paper skin. At first, I considered stabbing myself in the temple with a screwdriver but after a few moments of careful consideration determined that to be a titch too dramatic. So, I did what most women in this situation do which is to ignore the fact that it’s 8:15 in the morning and made myself a Gin and Tonic. Don’t judge. This was just as traumatic as discovering that your parents really did like your brother better or that your boyfriend from college was now a woman. Heavy stuff. Like all sensible women, I allowed myself the one drink, went through all the appropriate stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance and then began my search for the fountain of youth potion. The Elixir of Egypt. The Treasure of the Thailand. The Secret of Sweden. The Arrogance of France..only the French could get away with this name for a facial cream. After about $4,000 in lotions and oils and another $3,000 in consultations with the most highly recommended Dermatologists in the country it became abundantly clear that I’d better get to the “acceptance” portion of this program. That’s right. The crepe paper skin was here to stay. Another Gin &Tonic, please. And there it was. I was no longer young.
So, fast forward a few years and the shock of no longer being the most beautiful creature on the planet finally subsiding, I began to do what I always do. Observe. And after that, finding the humor. As it turns out, I didn’t have to look far. Seems I’m not the first female to dial 911 upon discovering crow’s feet and how we deal with it can really be entertaining. A couple of my favorites:
1) We start shopping in the twenty-something section for our jeans. Two words here. Muffin Top. Sorry ladies, I don’t care how fit you may think you are. The only people who can pull off this hip-hugging look is an underage, under fed supermodel. Period. That little buldgy thing squeezing over the top of your pants is a disgrace and, in my opinion, a punishable offense.
2) We start flirting with our children’s friends. Good Lord. This may be the worst offense of all. As if to somehow confirm that we are still attractive we revert back to our adolescent behavior and flirt with anyone under 40. It is especially disturbing when we start describing teenage boys as “hot.” Ladies, if you’re still doing this, please stop. This isn’t “The Graduate” and you are not Ann Bancroft.
3) Someone told us it was o.k. to show up at social events with all of our crepe papery skin showing. Sexy is good but back-fat and saggy, exposed lady bits…not so much. This has nothing to do with size. Keep in mind that Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe worked a size 14 like nobody’s business. Bottom line..if it’s not firm, cover it up.
4) We get a little “work” done. If the day comes when you meet your friend for lunch and she doesn’t immediately recognize you, you’ve gone too far. A little something..why not? But when you look more like the Joker than your former self and your neighbor’s grandchildren run away screaming when they see you, it’s too much.
I saw a woman at the pool the other day, well beyond the smokin’ hot sex-kitten stage and even a little past sultry cougar. She didn’t appear to have had any “work” done, obvious signs of age creeping in. Still, she was…beautiful. Happy, relaxed and confident. A woman perfectly at ease with her age. I don’t know what she was drinking as she lounged poolside but….I suspect a Gin & Tonic.
