The younger girls get to wear Bohemian skirts and we’re wearing pencil!
They get scoop-necks, we get turtlenecks!
They get wedges and we’re stuck with slingbacks!
I guess while I've been running to lacrosse games, something else has been running too—my youth. Apparently I’ve moved from one style category to another--from the “hip” Young to the “not-so-hip” Not Young category.
How. Did. This. Friggin’. Happen?
I mean, I’m used to being Young; I've been young foreeevvver. I know what Young looks like—me, 16, long braids, short uniform, pouring coffee for a group of Saturday boaters at my dad’s restaurant. They smile at me. Flirt. One of them invites me to local swim hole. I’ve been Young for four full decades.
Four. Full. Decades!
But with this Not Young stage, I’m still figuring out if I can wear skinny jeans.
I need help.
HELP.
Wait. Breathe.
WWJD?
If he were a woman, he’d call his best friend.
Buddhist Buddy--the straight one--arrives forty-five minutes later with yerba mate in tow. She’s as close to granola as you can get without throwing it up. Her hair, face, legs, peanut butter and clothing are au natural. But she’s a very wise woman and I love her dearly.
I pour a glass of wine for me, and we sit at the kitchen table. And then it all spills…not the wine, the InStyle, the skinny jeans...
And then…. I see her lips mouthing something….wait….what the...?
Midlife Crisis?
I’m not having a midlife crisis because I am not midlife. I mean, aren’t 40s the new 30s?
“But it’s OK Meg. Or you could wait till you’re fifty to have a crisis.” (to Buddhists time is meaningless).
“But 50 is Old,” Did I say she was wise? I lied.
Everyone knows it’s a bigger leap to go from Young to Not Young than from Not Young to Old. Old people know they’re Old. They’ve been Old for a while.
And I apologize to you, if you’re Old. But I’m sure you’re used to it.
Of course, Young and Old have little meaning to her. She’s taken her Bodhisattva vow, which pledges to wait to reach enlightenment until everyone has reached it.
She’ll be waiting a long time for me.
But seriously, can I still wear skinny jeans? What about embellished tank tops? Buddhist Buddy has no clue. Email me, I need to know.
Disclaimer: If you're expecting a happy ending, stop reading now.
And here’s what else bothers me, “On top of my fading Youngness,” …. I continue, swigging my wine, “I’m a mother.
A mother. Me!
Mothers make Jell-o. They wear control-top panties. They get Ma’amed regularly—at the clinc and the checkout counter: Have a good day, ma’am. Boaters don’t flirt with ma’ams. Cheryl Tiegs wasn’t a ma’am!”
Buddhist Buddy furrows her eyebrows.
“Cheryl Tiegs. The model.” You remember Cheryl Tiegs, don’t you? I first saw her photo on the back of Seventeen in junior high. I was convinced I had something to look forward to—being a woman. I couldn’t wait for my body to change, to start my period, to shave my legs. Soon I’d wear eye shadow, use Sun In, French kiss Dennis Peters. Soon I’d be a woman like Cheryl.
I was betrayed. Cheryl wasn’t a woman. She would swim in women’s clothing. She was Young. Young! Probably jail bait.
I was betrayed. Cheryl wasn’t a woman. She would swim in women’s clothing. She was Young. Young! Probably jail bait.
Buddhist Buddy sips her tea. “Become one with your Not Youngness,” she advises. Easy for her to say. She can become one with a tree.
She picks up a Vogue with Scarlett Jo Hansen on the cover and begins sifting through it.
“What is she, like 12?” I grab it from her and toss it to the floor. Yes, I do have a dramatic side.
“You want to know my latest guilty pleasure?” I ask her, pouring a second drink. “When I read in Celebrity Birthdays that another actress has turned 40, like Edie Falco or Julianne Moore, I celebrate. God, the day Nicole Kidman turned the big 4-0, I cracked open the champagne.”
“Were not getting older but better,” my friend chirps.
Oh yes, the aging spin. Next, she’ll want to take me to Menopause the Musical.
“But better is hard work,” I say a bit louder than I’d intended. “Better means concealer and control-top underwear."
I know Buddhists see life as suffering, but pleeeaase....control-top underwear?
Clearly I need another drink.
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