I love fall because I can return my “tankinis” (bikinis for tanks) to the back of my closet where they belong. Cooler temperatures give me a burst of energy. I ride my bike to get my chin waxed, I do lunges while I watch “Murder, She Wrote,” and occasionally I get bat-crazy and add a little Grey Goose to my prune juice.
Today I casually looked through the mail—bills, the Victoria’s Secret catalogue that my son reads when I’m not looking, and then...my brand new AARP card. Buzz. Killer.
The “R”, of course, stands for “retired.” That’s like being put out to pasture. Actually, rollicking alone in a pasture sounds fun, except for dodging the cow patties. Instead, I dodge the wicked verbal barbs of teenagers, fail to help with math projects about how many meters-per-second Cheetos fall from our balcony, and explain to my pre-teen why those couples in the movie Bride Wars are sleeping in the same bed when they’re not married yet.
If I were rollicking in a pasture, I wouldn’t have to worry about what I wore. Clothes shopping is a challenge for someone my age. I can either shop in the Juniors section where I have to wear a size 37 or go to the dead-woman-walking "Misses" department.
I really don’t want to wear high-waisted “mom jeans,” but if I bend over and accidentally “let down my tailgate,” if ‘ya know what I mean, my kids’ therapy is going to suck my wine budget dry.
I should just accept that I’m at the end of my forties. Some of my friends need to do the same.
My friends give me those "bless her heart" looks when I wear my sweatpants and Welcome Back Kotter t-shirt every day, but hons, you’re gonna get thrown off the island in those over-the-knee leather boots. Save ‘em for the Fifty Shades of Grey party. Ditto on the 24/7, over-stretched, tennis outfits. Just sayin.’”
Another questionable style element of the “I-actually-saw-Neil-Armstrong-walk-on-the-moon” crowd is Uggs. They are expensive moon boots which were born ugly in the 70‘s, and after a suede remake, are still Ugg-ly. Paired with Nike gym shorts, they are the staple of every teenage girl’s wardrobe. Moms should also be allowed to wear that get-up too, according to no one.
Obviously, a monumental clerical error caused AARP to include me in their Cougar, I mean, Codger Co-op. I admit I don’t Tweet very well and I only recently learned what hashtags are, but I am hip enough to have heard Psy, the one-hit-wonder Korean pop icon, sing “Gangnam Style.” My style may scream “AARP,” but the only thing that may retire soon is my Welcome Back Kotter t-shirt.