For those of you who were unaware of the newly designated National Day of Mourning, let me be the first to bring you the news. From now on, February 5th is officially “The Old Broad’s Birthday”. Yep, I called my Congressman and had him bring it to the floor for a vote. Congress can’t agree on much these days, but they certainly could agree on one thing, that redheaded chick that lives in Manassas, Virginia? SHE IS GETTING OLD! I love bi-partisan spirit. Please send your condolence cards directly to my home since I will be there, crying in my dirty martini and applying wrinkle cream with a putty knife.
I’m not really sure how this happened, but it sure did happen quickly. One day I was partying like a rockstar with my rockstar friends, all of us pretending like we were important and in charge of the world. The next day, my eleven year old daughter is referring to me as pre-elderly and laughing at the music I listened to “back in the day.” WTF??? I don’t feel old. I’d like to think I don’t LOOK old, but apparently, to an eleven year old I am ancient. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I believe she thinks I am in the beginning stages of Alzheimers – which is quite possible since I can’t remember sh&t anymore. I wonder if she has started looking at nursing homes for her aging mother? I hope she picks a place in a warm weather climate, as cold weather at my age has also become truly unappealing. You know, it should be illegal to have arthritic hips in your forties.
Actually, I was watching television the other day and was thoroughly excited to learn that Depends undergarments were now available in different colors. Wow, wardrobe choices for those of us who are approaching incontinence. By the way, sneezing is already a risky proposition. It should really be hoot in four or five years. All I know is that I hope they come out in red. I have a sexy red bra, and I’m pretty sure the matching thong isn’t going to be an option in years to come. I will, however, draw the line at those ugly orthopaedic “walking shoes” and elastic waist pants. If, at some point, I am no longer able to hobble around in 5 inch heels, then I shall have Bill push me around in a wheelchair…wearing heels (me, not Bill.) Likewise, I’ll just keep a blanket over my lap and skip the pants altogether…another reason that red Depends would be a great fashion statement.
The truth is, getting older would be much more enticing if it wasn’t such a ridiculously young world. Everyone is twelve, for God’s sake…singers, models, celebrities. Hell, some of them aren’t even OLD enough to party like our generation did, and those that do, well, they end up in rehab, or jail, or both. I don’t remember anyone my age going to rehab, or jail, for having a good time. We partied responsibly…or at least smarter than the current batch of twenty-something whiners.
I’d also like to see more middle-aged or older runway models in New York, Paris and Milan, sporting cellulite and saggy breasts. How much fun would that be? We should bring back all the models of the 70s and 80s, and make them “walk the catwalk”…without the benefit of makeup or hair dye, or plastic surgery - just them, in all their natural glory. Now THAT is a reality show!
Be honest, you’d DVR that bitch, wouldn’t ya? I know I would.