Journey came on the radio. Don’t Stop Believin’. You get me, Steve Perry. You really get me.
It’s Friday night and I’m rolling in my dusty red Firebird. My hair is teased up nice and big (the higher the hair, the closer to Jesus). I’m wearing cute heels and a (tasteful) mini skirt no matter how cold the weather. Suffer for beauty.
The night — and the world — is my oyster. Clubbing? Parties? The possibilities are endless!
Then the radio changes songs and poof there goes the Firebird (but I do still have unintentionally big hair). My Friday night is fuzzy socks, a sofa blanket, pizza rolls and in bed by 8 because Netflix and Mama doesn’t cook on the Fridays.
I’m not super old, I’m just middle old. I know I’m supposed to say I don’t like being middle old. That my teen years were my heyday (as if!).
Honestly, I’m OK with middle old. I may not be thrilled with the new, slow metabolism and the new lines and wrinkles. I do find, however, that the also new farsightedness makes it hard to see how many lines I really have. Nature works out.
No, I’m happy with being this age. So far this is the oldest I’ve ever been, but I have to say it’s been fine. Good even.
I have two social modes — snacks with friends in yoga pants, and at home watching Netflix in yoga pants. As a note, I have never gone to yoga in my life. That should tell you all you need to know.
I have reached the age where a Friday night in fuzzy socks sounds pretty darn good. Delightful actually. The only thing better would be two nights (but I would settle for three).
People invite me out and while I’m delighted to be invited, I’m also kind of put out. If you really loved me, you would quit expecting me to comb my hair and put on actual pants.
I have gone to bed at 7 p.m. — and I wasn’t even ill. Rather than being the punishment it was at age 6, I consider it the highest luxury.
Get a life
Mr. Wonderful and I probably need a hobby. Our hobby used to be old house renovation and rehabilitation. Our home is not finished, by any means. In fact, we’ve been at it so long that things we originally repaired are breaking again.
No, we could still make renovating a hobby. Nothing says hot date night like a trip through Home Depot.
We are just kind of over it. The house, like us, is imperfect and showing some age and flaws. We are comfortable with that. It’s our way. The rooms are softer for the flaws.
It’s easier to live with a few imperfections. Less worry about being the first to scratch or break something. We can give the kids a ping-pong table on the third floor (that was a fun trip up!) and not worry about a few marks on the walls. We have a dart board for that.
We do enjoy boating and camping and driving our cars gently into ditches, to the merriment of assorted friends (that last one is mostly me).
In the winter, however, our options for fun things to do are limited. Mr. Wonderful keeps trying to float chopping firewood as a viable option, but that isn’t catching on like he would like.
These days, a hot time on a cold night is to curl up with a movie or a good book. Perhaps a long chat with a friend?
I like to hear about the adventures of my children and their friends. Dances, dining, movies and sometimes just the gentle sound of a ping-pong ball or darts bouncing of the walls keep them happy and healthy. I live vicariously through them, socially, and that is OK with me.
I have friends wise enough to host dinner/pajama parties. We get comfortable, eat good food and laugh until we cry.
Hair brushing is wholly optional.
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