I wondered what my senior game will be. Although I like Bingo, it probably won’t be the game of choice as I gather with my 50 shades of gray-haired friends. I’m thinking I’ll be the little church lady who takes your money at penny poker and has an extra Ace cupped in hand. Or —I’ll sell Pinterest crafts roadside, maybe even build a tiny house with the wine corks I have saved.
As I started scanning my grocery items at the express self check out, the screen prompter ask’s me if I qualify for a senior citizen discount. I hit NO, but the screen won’t go away. I give the bored clerk a sideways glance so that he will move me along. He obliges, but with a smirk and I realized from his “whatever” glance that I am in between era’s. Kind of like a Tween, I’m a Tweenior.
I have choices now. I can be this, or that. I throw away the AARP mail, but keep the Roper St. Francis House Calls magazine (for the recipes.) I still want to do exciting things. But, I can make them more adaptable and fun, like I can ride up the mountain and zip line down through the trees rather than go on a 3 hour hike up the mountain.
I believe it is the most liberating time in US history to be a middle aged woman. But, I increasingly find that because I CAN choose, I flit back and forth between being the fearless Amelia Earhardt and a helpless Charleston damsel who has the vapors, praying for a Rhett Butler to catch me when I swoon.
Oh yes, I am all over the map;
Commitments and engagements are fine as long as they fall into my cycle of no cycles. I don’t want anyone telling me what to do, yet I seek guidance diligently. My emotions have gone from hair trigger to a 3 day fermentation period. I find that I give less thought to petty BS now than every before and rather enjoy sideways glances at my unpredictable responses.
If someone thinks you look like you had a good night, let them.
When the cashier’s buzzer goes off because you bought Epson salts (apparently an hallucinogenic) just look at them and wink.
.
I want my hair to go gray, I don’t.
I want to dance my butt off somewhere, but don’t want that “Bless her heart, Granny can still bust a move” look.
I’m too young for shuffleboard, too old for Wii dance.
And — Perplexing instructions and labels annoy the hell out of me;
"Apply crème to a soft area of your body." That one didn’t take long.
"Draw attention from trouble areas of your body by moving a person’s gaze to the good areas." Ok, so I’m down to the knees now, any suggestions for alluring knee attire?
"Age defying makeup." Can’t I just deny it myself?
"Free-roaming eggs." Yes, I put that package back in the cooler. I don’t trust a company who thinks eggs roam free.
Hmmm, just had a thought. Does that senior citizen discount include alcohol? Limbo’s not really such a bad place to be. I find I’m neither here nor there.
