With no prospect of children in my present to near future, when I do decide to have babies it will be with rotten eggs. The longer I wait the development, intelligence, agility, and basic overall health of my future children could be affected. So I’m picturing slow, stupid babies, which if I’m lucky, will make it into community college. And if I wait till thirty-five, well we’re talking GED.
When I meet new people, I am no longer the youngest in the group. Nope, I’m the old one; the one that everyone gauges their success or lack thereof by: I got plenty of time; I’ll never end up like her. See, I can also help with depression.
I even enjoy it when I get carded and thank the person like I’ve seen my Mother do. I always thought she was such a dork when I was younger and would roll my eyes and laugh as she happily handed over her identification, beaming, and giggling like a schoolgirl.
Instead of being aggravated and annoyed, I readily show my I.D. and thank the little girl rolling her eyes behind the counter. “I’m only THIRTY for Christ sakes! Just you wait sweetheart, you’ll be thirty one day, and someone will be rolling their pubescent eyes at you!”
But then, some things never change. When a semi-truck pulls alongside me on the interstate honking his horn and scaring the hell out of me, I smile, and wave, and think to myself: You got it kid. Instead of: You Ass! Are you trying to kill me?
He may be one of the worst characters you’ve ever had panting at you, as his eighteen-wheeler erratically merges into your lane. But, you have to give him credit; after all, he is multi-tasking.
Hanging out the window, resting his index and middle finger on each side of his mouth like a “V”, plunging his fat, slobbering tongue in and out like some starved reptile feeling for its slower-moving prey, all the while pointing at the bumper sticker on his extended cab that says, “It’s not the size of the worm, but how you wiggle it that counts!”
Yes, enjoy it, because that heinous spectacle is fleeting. The Peterbilt horns will stop blowing, our counties finest road construction crews will stop whistling and calling me Mami, and forget the days of receiving a free drink. It will all soon be a thing of the past.
When I hit that stage in my life and start sagging, I hope I will grow old tastefully, and comfortable within myself, not like the women I’ve seen in the mall with the long blond hair and stiletto heels.
From the back she looks twenty-five, then she turns around and you’re like, Good God! No amount of surgery is going to make a sixty-five year old woman look twenty-five, and who in their right mind would want to?
I love to watch the guys who spot her from behind. The young males with raging hormones will actually spout off something like, D-A-M-N!
While waiting for their wives to hurry up, the older men with their raging hormones are speaking even louder, but only with their eyes.
Then she turns towards him. Excitement transforms into shock and revulsion, followed by denial, ending in embarrassment. Once the poor fellow pulls himself together, his adamant expression of superiority clearly states, I wasn’t checking THAT out in the first place!
I guess you could try and stay twenty-five forever, or you could grow old gracefully, floatation device and all; hopefully with a randy husband that loves you and wants you just the way you are. Or maybe he could just have cataracts – in both eyes! That is the woman I aspire to be, and if I should fail, then I hope I marry a brilliant plastic surgeon!
If you missed Part 1 of Lee’s story, “You Got It Kid,” here is the link: http://sarasotapost.com/blog/395-you-got-it-kid
About Lee Volpe:
I was a slow reader, diagnosed with a learning disability, & by the end of third grade it was suggested I be held back. As part of the remedial tutoring I opted for, I was given the task to write a story. Little did I know that assignment would be the genesis of me, the first taste, the moment that changed everything. Daisy the Cow was the result of my 8 year old imagination. A cow that was beloved by all the neighborhood children until someone gets a puppy & Daisy loses the spotlight. Daisy begins howling at the moon, fetching, lifting her leg, & causing all kinds of trouble – for a cow. With the help of her friends, Daisy realizes that she is special, loved, & perfect just the way she is.
At the time, I was approached & offered publication for Daisy the Cow. After a year, I completed tutoring & was reading almost two grade levels higher. I resolved my fear & dislike of reading. And in finding the words, I found my voice.”