My Real Age

Lord help me, I think I’m aging too quickly. You know how you always see people who act younger than they really are. And they’re all fun and fun to hang around. Then you see the people who already act like one foot is in the grave. I’m afraid I’m becoming the latter. Only time will tell if I will do it gracefully (from yesterday’s post some of you might think I’ve reached curmudgeon stage).

Example one: I love fashion and style and trying to be in it. With each consecutive magazine that I get though I get more and more concerned for the fashion editors of those magazines. What Kool Aid are they drinking? They’re still trying to push that jumpsuit craziness. And baggy clothes. And mixing prints. Wha?!?! Or am I getting old and now falling into that middle-aged category that is so comfortable in styles they wore in their twenties they’re unwilling to try new fashion? Please help me.

Example B: I have had the same hairstyle, give or take a couple of inches, for oh, fifteen years. Thank all that is right in this world that this wasn’t in the 80s. I don’t want to be that lady who is so afraid of changing her look that it takes a public intervention on Oprah to get her to cut her hair, and put on new clothes. I did take measures this fall when I got layers cut into my hair and went blonder than I have ever naturally been. But I consider those baby steps. I need to do something like go black pixie to stay young.

Example six: I have had a bloggy meet-up before. Many I am realizing. My engagement last week was an example of what is becoming regular in my life. Two of my neighbors are bloggers and we’ve been to the Governor’s Mansion together, the bus stop, decorating gingerbread houses. How could I forget that? It’s that oldstimer disease I believe, sneaking up on me taking away my…what was I saying?

There’s got to be a way to stop this mental age progression. You would think that having two young kids would be of some help, but most days they drain the life out of me. Heaven help me when I start yelling at kids in the mall…or letting vacuum salesmen into my house. I must sign off now. The bed is calling me…earlier and earlier each night.

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9 thoughts on “My Real Age

  1. Du says:

    You’re not getting older, just more seasonsed 🙂
    Anyway, I love your hairstyle and even though you don’t think it’s had big changes, at least once per year I consider it a new style.

  2. Age has always been just out of my reality because how I feel is more important. Sometimes, I’m still a kid, sometimes, I’m a granny. My philosophy is this: when people start to guess my real age, I lie and tell them I’m 15 years older so I will look “fabulous for my age”!

  3. I feel ya. I’m still in my 20s but on most days feel I must be approaching 40s any day now… and I’ve got a long way to go. Can’t imagine what I’ll feel like 10, 20, 30 years from now. I like Betty’s philosophy above. Sounds fun!

  4. I left for work this morning without my pocketbook. I drove about 2 miles, realized my mistake, and turned around. Arrived back at the house, went inside, saw that I forgot my lunch, too, picked up the lunch, and left the house again. Got about 5 miles before I realized I still didn’t have my pocketbook. Yup, curmuddgeon disease. The first symptoms have arrived. 🙂

  5. I’m ok (kinda) about getting older and preferably wiser. But like you, I don’t want to start acting all old and fuddy duddy. I just changed up my hairstyle for the first time in 5 years and I love it. As silly as it seems, I really do feel a little hipper and more fashionable. Not crazy enough to wear the ridiculous hammer pants that’s supposedly in right now though (no joke, saw it in vogue this month).

  6. I worry about this a lot when I think about it. I’m technically “young” at 25, but I party like a 95 year old on Ambien. Worse? I’m now a frumpy mom, lol. I always promised my husband I would never “let myself go” but here I am, w/out makeup, hair undone, still wearing maternity clothes.

    At least you are still hot, even if you live life in the slow lane 🙂

  7. Just back from vacation and catching up with your blog. This post really called to me as I feel I am in denial about how old I am (when I see my gray hair and the condition of my skin — really awful. I think I’m getting —age spots) and how fashion backwards I am, how out of touch I am, and how forgetful I am but then in other ways, I feel totally young. It is an odd thing. I always thought when I got as “old” as my parents, I would be so much more “grown up” like I thought they were. It is beginning to dawn on me that I projected a lot of stuff onto my parents that might not have been there in reality. They may have–gasp—felt just like I do now. A bit of an imposter as someone’s mother. It is odd to realize this.

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