Somehow, it’s June of 2013. And somehow an incredible amount of time has crept up, then shot on by like a bullet train. All along, I’ve been deceived, believing it’s never been anything more than an innocent little choo-choo. Where have the years gone?
For some reason, I haven’t liked what I’ve been viewing in the mirror lately. So, I went on line in search of the perfect hairstylist for my type of curly hair, convinced all I needed was a proper cut. You’d have thought I was going in for a facelift, I was so excited the day of my appointment. These people were reputed to be the best curly hair experts in the universe.
I paid the one hundred and fifty dollars for the cut and a bottle of product and left holding back tears and feeling such a fool. Who in their right mind would actually pay money to look so bad? I went home, washed out my product heavy head of hair, then found a pair of scissors and cut it all off. I look much better now.
Apparently, my hair isn’t the problem. I think the issue here is hard to admit. The issue is that I was born in 1954 and the year is 2013. Hum-mm…yes, it’s easy to see how that could be the problem.
I’ve been having some weird little bumps and stuff on my face lately so I went to a dermatologist who appeared to be eighteen. She said it’s just an age thing and gave me some ointment. “It won’t get rid of it,” she smiled brilliantly, “but it will keep them from getting worse and might even shrink them a bit.” Gosh, that made me feel so much better. (I won’t even mention what she said about my under arm skin tag.)
You know those darling little ballerina flats everyone is wearing these days? You know, they just slip on and the toes are gently rounded and the cut of the shoe crosses the bunions growing on the outsides of my big toes, and cuts in like a scalpel making them impossible to wear unless you were born well after 1954; the shoes I’ve had my eye on for years if only they didn’t do the bunion crossing thing. If only my feet had danced into the world later (much later!) than 1954 and weren’t infested with calcium deposits. But no. It’s as my physician explains ever so gently. It’s just a little calendar thing.
So, It’s June of 2013. I may need to go swimming in the next couple of months which means dressing down into one of those itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny yellow polka dot….well maybe not. At least not until I get in a couple of serious palate classes anyway. That’s all I need. Just a couple of good ol’ palate classes…don’t say “swim-dress” to me! Oh no you don’t! I’m a child of the 60’s…I’ll never grow old! I’ve got attitude…