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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon. |
| May 18th prompt: What is the most ridiculous or one-of-a-kind thing you've ever bought? Tell us the story! I will admit to a certain fashion faux-pas, or a momentary lack of taste in my teenage years. First, let me paint you a picture, and, yes, colour pics existed way back then and colour is important to this tale of woe. I'm not bragging, but at that time in my life I could be accurately described as a bean pole, lanky and thin. When I look back upon this blemish I shudder. What was I thinking? Some outfits only accentuate the awkwardness of a sad figure such as myself. I've lamented my regrettable choice, but in my defence this was once a fad and like all fads it had no hope of enduring. Tucked away in a photo album irrefutable proof exists. The camera caught me garbed in a woollen jumpsuit, yes, that's correct, a jumpsuit. Nowadays, the avant garde opt to wear what they call onesies. Meh, these garments are similar. Now the one-piece wardrobe wonder was accessed by a long zipper. Oh, did I mention the flared pant legs? Ooo, I was styling...not. And the piece de resistance... my jumpsuit could not be missed unless I scurried within range of a bona fide blind person. As I warned, colour plays an emphatic place in this story. Ack, my jumpsuit was yellow, not buttercup, not daffodil, not goldenrod. It was a hideous shade of mustard. It defies all rationality, but I ventured out in public in this mustard yellow jumpsuit, and I was not alone. The boy next door had invited me out for a date. I'm sure he never lost sight of me. Sometimes, I struggle with the sizing of items. My family will never let me forget the new canvas, aluminum-framed lawnchairs I purchased for our seasonal campsite a few years ago. I'd hyped up the arrival of the foldable furniture and promised the visiting offspring superior posterior reclining. They anticipated unparalelled luxury and a chance to toss tired, worn seats. I chose an evening campfire to introduce my purchases to my family. With a flourish, I waved the canvas, drawstring bags in the air. Bursts of laughter greeted me. "Mom! Look at that cute, teeny-tiny bag. Are you sure there are chairs in there?" With glee the bags were pulled open and their contents exposed. Two tiny chairs appeared and my adult kids dutifully tried to park their derrieres. They suggested I save the doll furniture for drunken games of musical chairs.One person could manage to squeeze herself into a petit chaise, my barely five-foot tall daughter-in-law. Okay, okay, visual point taken. I'd made a mistake. I'd adopted chairs meant for toddlers. Now that I've mentioned my DIL,I will share some fun she and I had. Returning from a road trip in which she tried on her wedding dress, we stopped at a candy store we'd always wanted to visit. Together we giggled over the many suggestive packaging choices.Our unanimous purchase qualifies as unique. We bought a tinful of white mints labeled as Pecker Mints, the perfect sweet treat for a bridal shower. Yep, they were tiny, perfect penises. Imagine that this candy mold exists. I still chuckle remembering her shocked smile. |
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