Monthly Archives: July 2012
Pecs and Buns
Breathes there a woman, from age so dead, who never to herself has said, “Now, there goes a nice set of buns.”
I was asked recently, “When did you realize you were getting old?”
Realizing and feeling are two very different things. At seventy-eight I still don’t feel old, because all the people I’ve been at different ages are still part of me. Remembering is not like imagining. Remembering takes me back. I don’t have to imagine what it feels like to be young, because I’ve been there, done that.
But, I also remember clearly the day in my fifties, when I first realized I had reached the age of invisibility. I went into an auto repair shop for some help and though several men glanced my way, no one came forward to ask what I wanted. It was a wake-up call leading me to notice that men’s heads didn’t turn anymore when I came into a room or passed them on the street.
That was a traumatic entrance into an angst filled change of life.
Rites of Passage
Grieve with us for youthful beauty lost,
remembering our vibrant gracefulness
bright’ning eyes and turning manly heads.
Mourn it with us. Keen our woman’s loss.
A strange invisibility is now our aging fate,
like graying ghosts, unseen, we walk.
Beat your breast. Shred your public garment.
The maggot of our egocentricity
leaves a hollowness of empty vanity.
Wail. Keen. Howl. Beat the ritual drum.
Celebrate the death of youth until it can be borne.
EoN 1993
However, as I moved into my sixties, I discovered there actually was an upside to becoming invisible. This stage of my life involved a lot of travel, so I was spending many hours waiting in airports. There I discovered the fun of watching the young men walk by. I worried that someone would notice and consider me a dirty little old lady, until I remembered that I had on my invisibility of age cloak. After that, I spent many enjoyable hours comparing buns and deciding whether I was a pecs or buns woman. Someone needs to write a ‘Pecs and Buns’ song, similar to ‘Tits and Ass’ from the musical, Chorus Line.
Created for Comic Relief
Young Klutz
Created for Comic Relief.
I have a large collection of ‘being a klutz’ stories starting at about seven years old. This is one of the more memorable ones from when I was twenty.
Back in the days of the dinosaurs, young girls were not supposed to wear black. I never understood the why of this. But since I lived at home until I married at twenty-one, my mother had veto power over what I wore. When I was in my junior year in college, I finally got permission to buy a sophisticated black cocktail dress with a slightly daring neckline and swishy taffeta skirt. I was also allowed to wear mascara for the first time. I even pushed the envelope and wore dangly black and silver earrings and strappy high heels.
I thought I was the most glamorous and sexy gal, since Liz Taylor.
I got my mother to position my date strategically, so I could make a dramatic entrance coming down our staircase. All was well until about the fifth step from the bottom, when suddenly my sexy, strappy, high heels slipped out from under me. I bumped the rest of the way down on my slippery taffeta covered tush, landing finally with legs askew and mouth agape.
My date jumped to his feet, eyes large with horror, but hesitant as to how to extract me from my tangled plight. My mother, bless her, started hooting with laughter.
There was nothing else to do, but laugh. Once I did, the hilarity was contagious and we all laughed helplessly, tears streaming down our faces. By the time mom and my date calmed down enough to hoist me up, my tear streaked mascara made me look like I had come down the stairs on my face.
Some of us just weren’t meant to be sexy and glamorous. Some of us were created for comic relief.
Laughter: Carbonated Grace 