“Do you know how old she is?"
“Thir-teen.” I responded with intensity.
He sat back in his seat with a slack jaw. Then we talked about other things.
|Her current view of guys is here summarized |
in her unsavory expression on the left.
Getting old happens to the best of us—and the very worst of us—all the while we stay the same inside in so many ways. I am learning that I am approaching this aged status with an annual regularity. (Stating the obvious occasionally is only one of many symptoms.) Before I hear the booing and hissing about my aging state, let me explain. This is how I know.
• People ask if the girls I have along with me for coffee chats or job assistants “are yours.”
• My business card is suddenly acceptable, when before it was somehow amusing.
• Teenage boys ask me girl advice and I encourage them to stick with finishing college.
• I approach a group of little people playing, they fall quiet, and I cannot join without receiving strange looks—from them.
• No one asks anymore, “So how do you know that?” when you know it the same way they do.
• Older people have begun to tell me that the longer I wait to bear children the more difficult it will be to do so.
• My advice is requested, chargeable, and taxable.
• Teenage girls may blush if they say “the wrong thing” while we are chatting.
• No one asks about school anymore, upon introduction.
• People assume I am in a relationship
• I actually need the eye cream I’ve been using since a young teen...
• My baby sister is turning fourteen today.
• My parents stop asking if I locked the front door—the one I always lock.
The last bullet point has not happened yet, however much my parents may trust me with their finances, vehicles, food, and lives. This, despite other facts, will be my insurance to render me forever young while they yet live. But, my sister turning fourteen today, is beyond impossible.
|Out to lunch with my lovely sis|
on the Port Townsend waterfront.
I was eight years old and eager. My momma had been pregnant before as I recalled, but I had never had a little sibling to have and hold. I prayed for a sister every day for as long as everyone could remember. My deepest heart’s desire was for a sister to share every joy, sorrow, laugh, thought, and even—my clothes. I dreamed of taking her shopping, eating out together, finding cute stuff, hitting each other and finding it hilarious, merciless teasing, and sharing a bedroom. I figured it was impossible, since I was eight, even if she came along now, she would be excessively young when I was markedly old. We would be eons apart and never have that sort of friend relationship.
Then, she came. My dad called from the hospital, telling me she was “squatty” and “a girl” and I laughed until I could not breathe. My brothers and I collapsed in a carpeted upstairs hallway…and literally bounced off the walls rolling and laughing for joy. It was April 30th.
|Even cats adore her. Now that's something.|
|Seriously. It IS funny. |
You don't get it?
|As if self portraits ever made sense...|
|Ha. Being creepy to spook each other to laughter|
is our private sense of humor.
Sometimes we forget people might be watching...