It has been repeatedly stated that it is “inappropriate” to ask a woman her age, or that “a lady never reveals her age.”
Personally, I think this is ridiculous, and so did my mother. I jump at the opportunity to say, “I’ll be 50 next year.”
I’m tickled to death to have made it this far.
I’ve Always Wanted to Be Older
As the baby of the family with ten years between me and my closest sibling, I always wanted to be older.
When I was eight, my brother would come home from the roller skating rink at midnight on Saturday night, all jazzed up, singing, “🎵my angel was a centerfold… yeah, my angel was a centerfold…🎵”
Oh, how I longed to be old enough to have that much fun. I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to go to the roller rink at night.
At eight, I was only allowed to attend the mid-afternoon matinee intended for children like me. But it was lame — they played children’s music and oldies, not the rock-n-roll they played on Friday and Saturday nights. We didn’t have speed skating or moonlight skates; nope — we had dumb wooden horses on wheels. So, not cool. <insert an eight-year-old eyeroll>
“I Can't-Wait Until I’m Old Enough to Get Drunk”
I come from a long line of heavy drinkers, and my family knew how to throw a party. The holidays were nothing short of epic. Thirty-plus drunken adults and me — along with a few nephews. We’d get sent to bed at 8:30 under the premise that Santa wouldn’t come until we went to sleep — I later realized, this was just a ploy to get rid of the children so the adults could continue getting drunk.
I woke up one Christmas morning to find people passed out in every room. One of my brothers was passed out on the kitchen floor, with his feet stuck in the pan cupboard.