There's a couple of people in my life that I don't tell often enough how much I love them. The first is an 18-year-old girl I took to lunch the other day who was shocked when I told her that I was 37. She said she thought I was younger than that. The second was a real live adult peer I was talking to the other night who was shocked when I told her that I was 37. She said she thought I was younger than that. So there it is, according to two people I still look younger than I am. Oh, how I love them.
I've been feeling kinda old lately. Not so much in a "better write out the last will and testament" kind of way, just in a "holy crap, all those jokes they make in greeting cards about saggy boobs are actually based on real events" kind of way. I used to think those were just created by women who liked whining for a living. Then I put two oranges in the bottom of my pantyhose as a joke and thought, "Hey, wait a minute...."
In the midst of feeling way past my prime, I attended an activity the other night with some of our young women at church. It was one of those warm and fuzzy get togethers where everyone takes a turn as an awkward centerpiece while everyone goes around and says something nice about that person. (I find these practices to be generally horrible and uncomfortable.) There were just as many adult leaders as girls, so we all had to endure equally. I didn't intend to take mental notes of the comments, but I did. About Leader #1: she runs marathons, she's pretty...Leader #2: she's really organized, she's so stylish, she's pretty...Leader #3: really nice, has cute kids, she's pretty...Leader #4: she's fun to talk to, she's pretty...Leader #5: she's so pretty, statuesque, so pretty, did we mention how pretty she is? And then they got to me. Judging on the pattern of previous comments, the 14-year-old version of me thought that maybe somewhere among this group of Seventeen Magazine readers somebody might think I had at least looked good at church once. I am Leader #6: "she's funny, she's fun, she's nice, she's funny, THE END." So I guess I'm not much to look at, but I might be good company on a road trip.
The whole experience brought back a memory of playing Barbies with Samantha when she was around 4 years old. She put a bow in the Barbie's hair and said, "See Momma? How does that look?"
"Ohhh...it looks cute!" I replied.
Then she ripped the bow out of her hair with bionic strength and yelled, "I don't want her to be CUTE! I WANT her to be BEAUTIFUL!!"
"Well then," I said. And then I got too curious. "So Samantha, is mommy CUTE? Or is Mommy BEAUTIFUL?"
She paused for a second to think and then said, "Uhhhhh....you're just funny."
I can just see the rest home yearbook now. They'll vote on Cutest Couple, Most Popular, Looks Most Like Her Original Yearbook Photo, Still Using the Restroom without Assistance, Most Likely to Cheat at Canasta, and Ward Clown. I think we all know where my future is headed.