I had begun accepting that the "Big 4-0" was quickly closing in. In fact, I had even started (sort of ) embracing it, telling myself how much better it is being 40 than 20.
While it IS true I would rather not be 20 ever again, it is equally true that there are parts of "20" that I miss: like having a "pre-gravity/"pre-baby" body. You know, the one that doesn't pooch and sag and have those unattractive dimples all over the backside.
This nostalgia over the younger me was brought to a head the other day by my BFF's teen-aged son. We were looking through some old photos, when a picture of me at 18 surfaced. BFF's son did a double take and professed, "Wow! You were pretty!"
I glared. He tried desperately to remove the foot he had in his mouth by following up with, "...Just like you are now!"
"Uh huh," I responded flatly.
What was more troubling? The fact that he said "were," as in past tense? Or the fact that he sounded so genuinely surprised by this revelation?
Either way, it wasn't like I was exactly looking in a mirror when I was looking at my 18-year-old self in the photo. Of course I've changed. I mean, it's been, what, 22 years (OMG!!!!).
As I frequently do, I came up with some very snappy come-backs... about 10 minutes later:
"Let's talk in 22 years and see how you're holding up, bud." (OMG! Back to those 22 years! Yikes!)
Obviously, that comment would not help my situation. So I came up with what any proud, Southern Belle would do for a snappy come-back: I would smile my best Southern Belle smile and said, "Yeah, I was pretty hot. And you know what, I may not be as young as I used to be, but what I've lost in youth and beauty, I've gained in cash and treachery."
Young teen-aged son may never have heard my comments, but it made me feel better (sort of).
Oh well, I may not win any beauty contests against any 20-year-olds. But I still wouldn't be 20 again for all the money in the world...
While it IS true I would rather not be 20 ever again, it is equally true that there are parts of "20" that I miss: like having a "pre-gravity/"pre-baby" body. You know, the one that doesn't pooch and sag and have those unattractive dimples all over the backside.
This nostalgia over the younger me was brought to a head the other day by my BFF's teen-aged son. We were looking through some old photos, when a picture of me at 18 surfaced. BFF's son did a double take and professed, "Wow! You were pretty!"
I glared. He tried desperately to remove the foot he had in his mouth by following up with, "...Just like you are now!"
"Uh huh," I responded flatly.
What was more troubling? The fact that he said "were," as in past tense? Or the fact that he sounded so genuinely surprised by this revelation?
Either way, it wasn't like I was exactly looking in a mirror when I was looking at my 18-year-old self in the photo. Of course I've changed. I mean, it's been, what, 22 years (OMG!!!!).
As I frequently do, I came up with some very snappy come-backs... about 10 minutes later:
"Let's talk in 22 years and see how you're holding up, bud." (OMG! Back to those 22 years! Yikes!)
Obviously, that comment would not help my situation. So I came up with what any proud, Southern Belle would do for a snappy come-back: I would smile my best Southern Belle smile and said, "Yeah, I was pretty hot. And you know what, I may not be as young as I used to be, but what I've lost in youth and beauty, I've gained in cash and treachery."
Young teen-aged son may never have heard my comments, but it made me feel better (sort of).
Oh well, I may not win any beauty contests against any 20-year-olds. But I still wouldn't be 20 again for all the money in the world...
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1 comment:
You know TJ - it's only a surprise if he doesn't have his foot in his mouth. I thought you handled it beautifully - just like your beautiful self!
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