HAPPY OLD WOMAN

Note-I no longer keep up appearances


I've hated getting older. What have I become? If I was headless and my body was in a police lineup, I wouldn't recognize myself. Or, I certainly wouldn't claim to know me. I try not to look down. When I do, I can't find my perky breasts with the tan lines. They are still there, but heading south. I can see my stomach, it sticks right out there. I have my mother's knees and ankles. The back of my beautiful hands are now sort of....hell, I don't know, but they aren't the same as when I was younger. I would hold them with such grace, near my face. Looking in the mirror each morning shocks me awake.

The only thing I still love is my hair. When I was thirty, I washed it and that was pretty much it. Now, it cost a small fortune to cover the gray, and apply expensive oils and conditioners. If it was natural and gray, I'd shave my head.

I miss the days when I walked down the street and a man would smile and watch as I walked away. I do remain quite popular with the old men in the produce department at the grocery. But the only place I feel young anymore is when I visit at the retirement apartments where my mom lives. Why I'm a young hot thing there. A couple of old men make a point of hugging me front on..........sort of an elder "feeling up" of the breasts. It's all I get anymore. I'm grateful.

No matter how much weight I lose now, the two piece bathing suit won't look good. I wear an old purple one-piece when swimming with my grandsons. I make them turn away and close their eyes when I get in the pool. They point out, "Nanny, we didn't laugh at you. But you know you are sort of roundish."

At work, I'm the oldest nurse in my department. After several hours of non-stop running, here and there, my feet and legs about kill me. The young nurses say things like, "Let me lift that for you." Or, "I'll run to the lab for you." I'd die before I would let'em help me. But by the time I get home I'm just the walking dead. I sit and think about my retirement. And I never ever work two days in a row. My co-workers go home to care for their young kids, cook dinner or go out for the evening... Then they get up the next morning and head back to work.

It is with deep regret I have to admit, staying up half the night to party about kills me. It takes days to recover. I fully expect my family to have to plan my funeral after Mardi Gras this year. Playing any kind of sports demands more rest time than play time. Even traveling sounds like more trouble than it's worth. I've been there before, why go back.

In years past, I would've been looking forward to New Year's Eve. It was a time to get a new dress, get the hair styled, get out there and have a good time. What was more fun than going to a couple of boring parties, hitting a few loud crowded bars, dancing, drinking cheap booze, and dragging my sorry butt home right before daybreak? Oh, I'd laugh a little too loud at dumb jokes and kiss a few guys at midnight that made me want to gag. It was party night and I was determined to have a good time. It was expected.

The hubby and I could have gone out this year. Our best friends wanted us to go ice skating. That would have entailed an ambulance trip to the emergency room for me. They made reservations at a great steak house. I could buy a half a cow for what that meal cost. Then it was on to a gay bar, with their gay neighbors. I saw photos, there was flashing lights, loud music, guys dressed as women, women dressed as men, some people without enough clothes on to make you guess which was which.

See in years past, I would've been belly deep in this sort of thing. I would be more drag in my sparkling dress and big hair than the best drag queen. If forced, I could have danced on the bar for just a minute. Later I would have told funny stories about the lesbians who wanted me to join their team and the gay men that said they'd go straight if I'd just dance with them.

This year I came home from work. My husband served me a nice dinner. After a hot shower, I dressed in my pj's and sat down in front of the TV. After watching all the bundled up people in Times Square at midnight, I went to bed. The kids next door shot off some fireworks. I got to enjoy them while all warm and toasty. I'd never been so glad to be old. I didn't have to work so hard to be happy anymore. I just was.



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