For When I am Old

I have remained 39 for a few years. Enough years that I may soon be my husband’s trophy wife.

But I went to the dermatologist a while ago and got some tough news. News that you only get when you have lived through too many sunburns and too many days you forgot to wear sunscreen and have a family history of skin cancer.

I’m fine, but it did hit me that I may be on my way, turning towards, slightly headed… to getting old. It was really because the brochure they gave detailing the procedure I would have showed only old people in the photos. This was a procedure for old people.

At my age of 39, I found this shocking.

I think about getting old  a lot. Not from vanity’s sake, but more from how I want to age. I want to be like Helen Mirren or Judi Dench. It’s not to say they are old, it’s to say that they are older than 39 and put themselves together so well. I have one friend who is in her 70s and teaches yoga. She also is still having sex.

So happy to hear that.

I have another older friend who is funny and modern and lovely.

Old is a moving target though. It keeps getting pushed out the longer I live past… 39. (Ahem)

My Grandma told me the story of taking her father to the doctor and saying how she tried to keep her Dad from eating so many donuts. The doctor replied, “At this point, just let him eat all the donuts he wants.”

So when I am old, I am eating as many donuts as I want. Hopefully, the warm ones from Krispy Kreme.

I am also going to get some sun. On my face.

I will drink Diet Soda, martinis and eat as much red meat as I want. Well, I kind of do that now, but I will not feel guilty about it when I am old.

I will tell people exactly how I feel…

Hm, never mind. That ship sailed a while ago.

I am going to start smoking. I loved smoking. In fact,I think I will smoke a pipe.  My Grandpa Leo used to smoke a pipe and he let me try it. Loved it.

I also plan to wear hats. According to the dermatologist, I need to do that now. And I am. But when I am old, I am going to wear Hats. With a capital H. The kind with feathers and maybe even fake fruit and little birds.

So, if you see me with my fancy hat and pipe, licking donut glaze off my fingers and prepping for my afternoon martini, you’ll know.

It happened.

I got old.