ADULTING

“Hey Grams! Wanna buy me a Coke?”**

**How I was greeted by a seemingly very young, extremely slim boy leaning against the worn out, germ filled 7-11 convenience store side brick wall on a recent, pre-standup comedy show, Red Bull craving induced detour.

I know my age. Although I much rather to ignore it…I am forced to look in the mirror every day, unless I want to take the chance of a slight, haggard, unrecognized booger on the outskirts of my left nostril. I’m aware the comment could have been a very innocent yet awkwardly honest assessment from his desperate, barely adulted, limited knowledge. But it’s only been under a year since my Fiftieth birthday and judging from my tear-filled reaction to his comment, I am clearly stuck in a bit of emotional denial, or maybe just still slightly traumatized at the reality of the inevitable and continuous decline of my outward appearance that lies ahead!!

This may sound dramatic, but my uneducated, somewhat vanity-based brain went into a weird state of shock for at least 30-90 seconds post young man- to middle aged old lady- request. My lack of Botox filled forehead anxiety panicked that I should just cancel my upcoming show for fear of unwanted and unstoppable tears consuming my face.

It’s one thing in life I was never prepared for. Being young feels forever. Until it doesn’t. Is youth ALL about delusion? I’ve been seeing older people since I first discovered how vision works, but for some reason, at age twenty, thirty, and even into my forties, it never seemed possible that this change was going to happen to ME.

Maybe it’s like Cancer. Or Sudden Disability. Or an Ugly Soulmate!

Also, I would have bought him a F#$%^**& soda pop if he had just left out the AARP reference.

He could have called me a C^%^ and I would have probably still satisfied his thirst. But GRAMS? Why?? What part of his brain decided that a dismissive, senior citizen assuming insult, was the proper approach?

I’ll be over it soon- I swear!!

If he really wanted to get my wallet open he should have asked if I was pregnant. A man who thinks my eggs are still thriving and vibrant enough to reproduce?! He would have gotten more in his mouth than just a *carbonated beverage.

*Not really….but sometimes I like to dream I still have the desire to be that sexually reckless…

Damn Age!

It takes a baby a couple years to learn to walk and talk. Even longer to develop the skills to not pee and poop on their own body.

Why shouldn’t it take just as long for a middle aged and vibrant human to adjust to the same process in decline. The unwarranted constant drip of not just my nose, but almost every other hole as well. How come sometimes after I pee- I pull up my Costanza mocked sweatpants and feel a small, yet annoying, late to the potty party urine drip in my pants? Is the universe poking at me for sport?

Another aspect of aging that is never openly addressed- The random anger at the most insignificant of life handed occurrences...

My neighbors could play a drinking game with the amount of times I scream into our dense and too closely shared walls with a wailing, “WHY?”

Although on a lighter note- what does make me extremely content?!

I get excited to pay bills. Because it makes me feel responsible!

Giving money away. And not just to the potentially cute homeless, but most often to the already thriving and corrupt corporate entities.

WTF?

I now consistently take vitamins every morning.

And I don’t make out with strangers anymore.

BORING!

I now seek that gratification from daily hot yoga. And YES that sentence still seems awkward to write. Who am I? I used to be wild! I’m still getting used to it. I still don’t know who this once sex driven, validation seeking, unworthy female is that finds overwhelming gratitude and redemption in an unanticipated attempt- and completion- of a foreign and seemingly dangerous yogi headstand…Something that two years ago I never thought I could do.

But now when it occurs, I do softly whisper to myself…Love. Trust. And Faith.

I’m late to the game, but-

I guess this is Adulthood

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