Live From The Grayish Carpet

Life on the Other Side of Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll, Redacted

When New Things Happen to Old People

BEKoldI’ve been in denial.

I was convinced that the mailed offers to join AARP were sent in error, and, when an ad for a dating service appeared on my Facebook page, I thought that the “Date 50+ Men” headline meant I could date more than 50 men. Even as I found myself choosing Simon and Garfunkel  over  Slayer, and opting for sensible rather than sexy shoes, I didn’t get it.  I didn’t figure it out until a week ago:  I’m old.

The realization hit me while I was standing on a packed bus on Wednesday.  This guy gave me the once-over and smiled, and, given that my last date was in 1997,  I smiled back.  He wasn’t my type, but he wasn’t unattractive, and, unlike many of my fellow passengers, he wasn’t talking to himself.  I fixed him with my best come-hither stare and watched expectantly as he got up from his seat and sauntered towards me.

“Ma’am?” he asked.  “Would you like to sit down?”

I responded by asking him if he’d like a kick in the tuchus,which is something my grandmother, an old Jewish lady, would have said.

It’s not that I was surprised or even unprepared; I knew that if I continued to ride crowded buses and trains, some asshole of a do-gooder would eventually inquire as to my ability to stand.  Besides, I’ve been wisecracking about my age since I was 30, when I started saying I was too old to see any band after sundown and insisted on being home by Hal.* But it’s one thing to joke about oneself being “seasoned” — as we called out-of-demo actors at E! —  and another thing for it to be confirmed by someone else.

As much as I’d like to, I can’t really complain — I got away with acting like a teenager until I was well into my 40s.  Further, there’s an upside to getting old:   with age comes wisdom, and less standing up.

2 comments on “When New Things Happen to Old People

  1. Karen Woods
    February 18, 2015

    The other night a kid at work gave me a shoulder hug on his way out. That’s nice. He also called me Mama Karen. That is not so nice. I got him back though — he kept messing something up, says “hit me, just hit me.” “Can’t Tyler, that would be child abuse.” He says “I’m 22!” “Still child abuse.”


    • Julie Farman
      February 18, 2015

      I believe I would vomit if someone called me Mama Julie. Congratulations on your restraint.


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This entry was posted on February 16, 2015 by in Life and tagged .
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