Monday, February 01, 2016


I normally shop for groceries on either Friday night or early Saturday morning, making every effort to avoid crowds. I hate crowds!

The absolute worst time for grocery shopping, I tell myself, is early Sunday afternoon, when all the "old dears" have exited the noon mass and are slowly trundling up and down the aisle, pushing their carts at barely perceptible speed.

"Old dears, is it?" says Reality Chick, who lives in my head and is wont to speak up at the least opportune times. "Old dears? Now, that's just a shame. I clearly heard you grunting when you had to stoop down for the shredded wheat. And both your knees popped when you stood back up."

OK, so ... my knees are a little wonky. Only when the weather is wet and warmish ....Not most of the time ...

"And have you looked in the mirror lately?" she continues. "The top of your head near the part is starting to go gray. And those jowls? You didn't have those at thirty. Or forty. Or ..."

I examine myself in the mirror, and it's true.  I am jowly, and my eyelids seem to have gained weight, too. Or they're puffy. And there is gray coming in .....just a bit. We do that late in our family.

"You know," she continues, all that stuff you write on your blog about how wonderful Cronehood is, and how lovely it is to grow old and wise? Did you forget the old part? Or does that part not apply to you?"

OK, OK I give up. I'm in my 60s, and I am trying to age gracefully. But let's not rush things. I am, most emphatically, not an "old dear." Not yet, at least.

The most I will admit to is being "oldish,"

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