Yesterday was my birthday and to be honest, birthdays just aren’t as much fun as they used to be when I was younger. For one thing, most of my gifts and cards poked fun at my advancing age…for which I really didn’t want or need any reminders.
There were the cards that said things like, “I was going to send you a funny card, but at your age, I was afraid you’d pee yourself," or “Aren’t you glad we were young and crazy before cell phones and the Internet, so there was no evidence?”
And then there were the usual corny jokes about the only men in my life being Ben-Gay, Arthur-itis and Charley Horse.
Okay, so maybe those are the only men in my life, but don't rub it in (I'm talking to you, Ben-Gay!).
I also received a few gag gifts. One was a statue of an elderly woman with everything on her body pointing south. She had one hand on her hip and her body wiggled back and forth (kind of like those old-fashioned hula-dancer statues people used to put on their car dashboards). On the base, it said, “Still hot! But it comes in flashes.”
Another gift was a box that said “Senior Survival Kit” on the lid. It contained a tube of denture adhesive, a magnifying glass, antacid tablets, aspirin, wrinkle cream, laxative, hemorrhoid ointment and a pair of socks that had “left” and “right” printed on them.
At my age, it seemed more like a practical gift than a gag.
One of
my friends gave me a book that listed information about the year I was
born. The average cost of a house back then was
$7,450. Gas was 17 cents per gallon, a postage stamp was three
cents, a loaf of bread was 14 cents, and a new car was about $1,400. Truman was
the president and the 45-rpm record was just invented. Argyle socks were the
latest fashion trend. Believe me, I felt like a fossil after reading that.
I have to confess, however, that when it comes to my age, I’m still in denial. I live in jeans, dye my hair and wear it long, and still dare to do things like ride on roller coasters and go zip-lining. But reality has a way of reminding me I’m not 30 any more…especially when it comes to my mail.
I can remember when the mail-order catalogs I received were from places like Victoria’s Secret, Frederick’s of Hollywood and The Beauty Boutique. Now they come from places that sell hearing aids, back braces, life insurance, liver-spot remover and motorized wheelchairs. I can wake up feeling young and vibrant in the morning, but after reading my mail, I feel as if should be picking out my headstone.
On the bright side, I guess I at least don’t have that “little old lady” voice yet. I was on the phone with a customer-service guy the other day and he happened to mention he'd just turned 28. I told him I had underwear older than him and he laughed and said, “Yeah, right! I can tell by your voice you’re only about 35.”
I wanted
to adopt him.
# # #
Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated
columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her
adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from
humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net
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