Pardon me whilst I wax a tad nostalgic. I’ve been chatting with a high school buddy I’ll call Sweet Buns, because well, that’s what I used to call him. He knows who he is and I think he’s still happy to wear that moniker because as we get older and lose touch with friends, we all want to be remembered fondly.
So, Sweet Buns, I remember you fondly and thank you for inspiring today’s bloggy goodness.
Sure, time is fleeting, but for the most part, Time is all in your head, peo-ple!
I know what you’re thinking. Oh, kee-rist, she’s on her soapbox again! First it’s the ageist crud in Oldbitey’s thesis and whup-de-truckin’-doo look who’s the champion of age-appropriate heroines blah blah blah…
Back to the clock in your head. Think about this: If no one ever told you how old you were, how old would you feel? If you’re 26, do you feel 26? What about if you’re 38? What’s 38 feel like? Is it that much different to when you were 32? Do you look the same at 35 as you did when you 17? Would you want to look the same as you did when you 17?
I sure as hell wouldn’t.
Don’t believe anti-aging advertisements or the getting old is bad propaganda. Stop buying into the crap about 30 spelling the end to your youth, or that hitting forty sounds the death knell for your love life and sex life, or that 50 means frumpy. Honestly, is that how you really feel?
I for one, get pretty cranky when someone tells me I’m supposed to dress or act, or think a certain way just because I’m well over 21. Don’t you?
Of course you realise I continue to address agism in And She Was, I mean, come on, what was my thesis business all about? So, trust me on this. Age is all in you head.
And in my head, I feel just as dorky as I did when I was 17, just as klutzy and big-mouthed as I did when I was 22. To me, 1984 wasn’t that long ago. Hell, last month feels like it was only last Tuesday, so the night Sweet Buns and I went to see Culture Club was like, two Fridays ago.