When people say I look good for my age I feel like I’ve been given an illicit prize. [Read more…]
The Bad Old Good Old Days
What if you had to use the bathroom in a hurry?
Every now and then I get an email from a Boomer waxing rhapsodic about the good old days and lamenting the disappearance of nickel candy and the ability of kids to play outside without being kidnapped.
These emails can only have been composed by men, because here’s what I remember:
*Sanitary belts that slipped around and chaffed your behind (because they hadn’t invented that post-it note adhesive yet)
*Garter belts, because pantyhose hadn’t been invented yet
*Girdles were required, because a decent woman didn’t jiggle unless she was in a Dean Martin movie.
*White-out and carbon paper.
*Men were bosses and women were grateful (the series Mad Men is not exaggerated)
*Women weren’t welcome as police or firefighters, astronauts, or commercial pilots (but we were welcome to work as a “stewardess” if we were pretty, single, and didn’t go over a maximum age or weight limit, in which case we were fired.)
*Using the designation “Ms.” often earned you a sneer, because it was clear evidence you were one a them bra-burners.
*Sports were for guys, cheerleading was for girls
I’m so happy to be doing all these dishes by hand while wearing high heels!
*We didn’t go to the gym. We watched Jack LaLanne on TV, except for a privileged few women who could afford to go to Venus deMilo women’s exercise salons.
And my personal favorite: at my job in a public school district, the union contract permitted new fathers to take three days’ paid Paternity Leave but new mothers received no equivalent (when I pointed out the unfairness of this, my fellow administrators teased me. Then they got annoyed.)
Next time I get one of those geezer emails I think I’m going to send them my list. You can add to it. What do you remember about the Bad Old Good Old Days?
Four Great Survival Skills
Image courtesy of Ambro at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
One of the cool things about getting older is you recognize wisdom. You learn to separate the faddish bloviators from the truly wise people. [Read more…]
The Opposite of a Bucket List
You know what a Bucket List is: that list of the things you feel you absolutely must do before you die.
By definition, that would have to be one heavy list. First of all, it ends with your death, and second, there’s probably stuff on it like sky diving (Nanci can cross that off hers) and start a literacy program and reconcile with that icky family member you’ve been avoiding for the past fifty years.
Well, I’m tired of the pressure. Life is hard enough without having a giant existential To Do list, so I’ve decided to rebel.
I’ve decided to start a “F*** It” List.
On this list, I have itemized all the things I’m not going to do, ever. I’m having so much fun with my list. Every time I add something, my shoulders relax, like I just had a good massage, or therapy.
This list has another fabulous purpose: cleaning out your inbox. Like the other day I was doing that, and there was a stack of recipes I was planning to try. Except I found myself thinking F*** It. And I threw them in the trash.
It felt so good that I figured I’m on to something.
Here are two things people (starting with Mom) have always said about me:
You work too hard.
You worry too much.
Not anymore, girlfriends! Because I have discovered the F*** It List.
Ahhhhhh.
Go ahead, try it. But first, tell us, what would you put on your very own F*** It List?
The Courage to Be Average
Do Appearances Matter?
In this article, Ellie Williams says New York police have started warning girls with too-short skirts that they could attract sexual predators. Williams is annoyed, because she feels the police are blaming the (potential) victims.
I agree with her that we shouldn’t assume sexual assault is the fault of the victim, but I do think people don’t always think about what their clothing says about them. Like the underwear models in the picture above. Maybe I’m old, but I don’t get what the girls in the thong panties are trying to say. Any ideas?
We love laughing at the “People of Walmart” pictures, and HR people always have a half-dozen funny stories about people who come to an interview in appalling outfits. Appearance matters.
This prom dress got a lot of attention a few years ago.
Believe me, I rebelled against this as a young woman in the 60s and 70s. I thought it was superficial to judge people based on appearances. I’d go into a nice clothing store in faded jeans and feel offended when the clerks treated me like an unserious customer, which I was, in view of the fact that I was poor, but I thought they were snotty and elitist.
In my thirties, I was waiting for a guy to come by the house and pick me up for our first date. I saw his car from the bathroom window. It was an old, faded, Fiat with torn upholstery and bald tires.
I should have stayed in the bathroom. Instead I ended up marrying and supporting that man. We divorced seven years later. The first impression I got from his car said everything, but I had been taught not to judge by appearances. Now that I’m older, I realize that humans really don’t have any other way to draw first impressions.
We respond to visual cues
We humans respond to visual cues. While dressing like a streetwalker – or going naked – doesn’t entitle a criminal to use your body, at the same time it’s wrong to say that people don’t look at what you’re wearing and draw conclusions. Those conclusions might turn out to be wrong, but the chance to demonstrate that fact may never come.
What do you think the young woman in the cowboy hat is saying with her choice of clothing? To me, it says I’m sexy and fun. Let’s play. That’s her decision – she’s a grown woman – but I’m hoping she’s also a martial arts expert.
Ah, well, she’ll probably change as she gets older. When I was a teenager, I applied for a job. The prospective employer called my current boss and asked for a reference. Vick praised me to the hilt. The prospect kept pushing. “Come on, she can’t be perfect. Tell me one single flaw.”
Finally Vic relented. “I had to be honest,” he said later. “I told him your skirts are too short.”
Kindle readers can contact me at Lmspreen@gmail.com.
Recent Comments