Welcome friends to the age where just about everything goes—muscles, teeth, original hair colour, eyesight, hearing and memory.
Do you find it annoying when folks comment that you don’t look bad for your age? I respond with.” I’m the best age I’ve ever been, thank you.”
When asked my age, I advise people to mind their own business, politely of course, and refer to myself as vintage.
“It is impolite to ask a woman her age” is a well-known axiom, yet our government insists we use birthdates on endless forms when It would take only a few seconds to cross-check name, SIN, and get a birthdate. The additional courtesy is warranted since we have been paying taxes the longest!! Renewal of one’s driving license requires our birthdate despite it being on the surrendered expired license. Health providers ask questions to verify identity including birthdates even though a medical card with all that information has been produced. If I deem the request for my birth date inconsequential, I pick a year that relates to my fantasy of the day. Spending X number of years scorching my derrière off in Purgatory for lying is worth it!
Agism dictates, or tries to, behavioural expectations, especially for women. “Age gracefully” is flung about willy-nilly and fosters conformity to some societal expectations often out of date. In the quest to remain ageless, many of us employ aids such as hair dye, big hats, large dark glasses, and very long scarves wound around the neck, in order to create mystery, adding some spice to life. Blissfully denying age is a multigenerational tradition on my maternal side and I would encourage you to make it yours. True, there is a downside of my denying age and this has caused some familial strain. Most recently, my daughter did not appreciate being introduced as my sister. She rudely huffed that I was heartless. Yes, it was insensitive of me, especially as I was still stinging from my sister introducing me as our mother. My only recourse was to disown her.
There are numerous challenges age flings to test our mettle such as the power of accurate recall. I choose not to recall my age but, occasionally, will admit that I forget “stuff”. Obviously, if it is important enough to remember I will – usually. Sometimes I encounter people who claim to be friends from the past and I find myself wanting to quip “Whose past? I must have been a toddler or life has been hard on you.” Admittedly that response is possibly grounds for justifiable homicide. Recently, a friend of mine who I will call Anne, encountered someone who said how nice it was to see her and that she had enjoyed Anne’s recent wedding. Usually sharp-witted, with a tongue to match, my friend was stunned silent; she’s a confirmed bachelorette. Anne did not recall the woman, nor remember ever getting married, let alone to whom. Anne remained puzzled by the woman’s comments until she forgot them.
