Don’t Call Me Ma’am

old

I think I might be old. I’m not sure, but things do seem to be leaning in that direction. Even the damn whipper-snapper bagging my groceries at the local supermarket the other morning can tell. He looked me right in the eye and called me “Ma’am”. MA’AM! And then he asked me if I needed help bringing my groceries out to the car. WTF?! That’s it…right now, buddy, you and me, OUTSIDE… I’m gonna kick your ass!

But I don’t really need some young wisenheimer to remind me that I’m getting up there in age. Here are nine ways I can tell that I’m old…and one reason why I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I Don’t Get Carded ~ Why don’t they card me anymore? I could be an underage buyer about to commit a Pinot Noir purchasing crime. What makes them so sure I’m over 21? Is it my gray roots? The age spots on my hands? It’s my neck, isn’t it? I’m starting to get a gizzardy thing, right? Just tell me. No…WAIT…don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Just give me the damn wine and no one gets hurt.

The Good ol’ Days ~ I actually start sentences with, “When I was your age…” I can go on and on about how we didn’t have the internet, cell phones, or GPS. We only had, like, 5 channels on the tv…and if we wanted the tv channels to come in clearly we had to adjust the rabbit ears (or maybe put tinfoil on them.) If we needed information we had to get our parents to take us to the library. And the biggest, baddest video game system we had was Atari (Frogger, Qbert, Space Invaders). I tell my kids these stories with a sense of nostalgic bliss. Those were the days. But seeing it written here in black & white, it is pretty clear that those were actually NOT the days. At all.  
 
Number One ~ The time between, “I have to pee.” and “Omigod I have to pee right now. Like, RIGHT now! Immediately. Where is the bathroom? I’m going to pee my pants!!” is about a nano-second. Half a nano-second, really. And ain’t nobody can make it to the bathroom in half a nano-second, catch my drift?
 
Bedtime ~ Left to my own devices I would go to bed at 8:00. Maybe even 7:30. My perfect night would be to eat an early dinner (early bird special), put on a comfy robe and cozy slippers, crochet a few doilies (just kidding, I don’t crochet), and go to bed with a good book.
 
Bedtime II ~ The kicker is that even though I can fall asleep annoyingly early (according to my husband, who also claims that I snore) I can’t stay asleep for the whole night. Insomnia. I don’t actually mind though. It is literally the ONLY time that someone in the house isn’t needing me to do something for them. It’s just me and the tv. Pure bliss.
 
I can no longer spin in a circle without getting motion sick. ~ If I do spin around (for instance, when I’m in the kitchen pretending I’m a ballarina) I have to immediately spin in the opposite direction to unwind. I can’t even watch my kids spin in a circle without getting dizzy myself. Why is that? Even swinging on a swing at the playground makes me feel sick. (That’s a sign of getting old, right? Or should I be Web-MD’ing these symptoms?)
 
I’m suddenly far-sighted. ~ If I were in my twenties and needed glasses to read I would go to the eye doctor and they would send me to Lens Crafters with a prescription. I would pick out a pair of nifty frames, and when it came time to read something I would put on my new glasses and I would just be this super cute far-sighted person. Now I can’t read anything close-up, and no one says anything about going to the doctor. I’m just supposed to go to my local CVS and get “readers”. Readers! And I’m supposed to buy them in bulk and leave them all around the house. Yea, that’s not happening.
 
What did I come in here for? ~ This is pretty self-explanatory. It’s what I ask myself practically every time I go into a room to get something. I wander aimlessly around the house trying to remember what it is that I forgot. Or sometimes I’ll walk all through the house looking for my cell phone…which is in my hand, pressed against my ear because I’m actually talking on it and saying to the person on the other end, “I can’t find my cell phone anywhere.” (Again, Web-MD??)
 

Energy ~ I comment on the energy little kids have, “Imagine having that much energy?” or “It’d be nice to have that much energy, huh?” But honestly, I don’t want that much energy. Why would I want to bounce around the house like a bunny all day? Why would I want to run and then drop to my knees to see how far I can slide across the hard wood floor? Why would I want to enter the living room by flipping over the back of the couch and landing horizontal on the cushions? I don’t want that. And you know what else…

I’m glad that I’m getting older.

I like getting older.

Life gets better the older I get ~ I’m happier now than I was 10 years ago. And 10 years ago I was happier than I was 10 years before that. I know myself better. I like myself more. I appreciate things. I make more choices based on the fact that they are good choices for me, not because they make someone else happy. And I don’t really care as much what other people think about me as I used to… or as much as I probably still should. (Yes, I’m referring to wearing my pajama bottoms to the grocery store sometimes. You want to make something of it?)

So there you have it. I may be an old, wrinkled, early-bird special gal who can’t spin in a circle. But I’m good with it. I like it. A lot.

One thought on “Don’t Call Me Ma’am

  1. So funny, Debbie. Your blogs always make me laugh out loud! Don’t worry about the Ma’am thing. I married a southern boy. He was calling me Ma’am when we first started dating! I quickly reminded him that I’m a New Englander and I’d slug him if he ever called me the “M” word again!

    Liked by 1 person

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