Sequined Aging

This just in: everyone ages.

While this makes sense and I have a grasp on the concept, sometimes it sneaks up on me nonetheless.

A minor comment during a casual, holiday encounter has led to this avenue of discussion. I saw my friend Laura's kids for the first time in a few years. They were all enormous and...well...not infants. They didn't remember me at first and I indignantly reminded them of the feces-filled diapers I changed. Of the time I painted their nails while watching them overnight, which was unsettling to their parents, as their handles are Dakota, Forrest, Xavier, and Cole. I think the 2 eldest (Dakota and Forrest) eventually felt bad for me as I bombarded them with memories they didn't remember and feigned vague recollection.

The apex of my evening of aging terror arrived when Forrest asked me to borrow a lighter in order to illuminate a candle. When questioned as to who provided the torch, Forrest blurted "That lady over there" and pointed his 4th grade index finger directly at me. LADY?! Lady. Seriously? There are a few circumstances which warrant the term "lady" in my book.

1. Obviously being 65 and over.
2. Being at least 45 with children present
3. Wearers of embroidered sweatshirts
4. Those outfitted in fanny packs/sequins/religious apparel

But me? I was wearing my 15 year old sister's dress, jeans and large earrings. Not exactly the portrait of convalescence. It's so funny how the aging scale slides. When you're young, everyone more than a grade older than you is "old" in a sense. When you're a teen, mid-twenties seem as distant as death, and then suddenly you wake up one day and you're 53 and you muse about how young the retiring age is as you're scanning the Merchandiser and mixing Metamusil.

I'm not going to taper this off by stating that I got a boob job, face lift or am actively seeking out Ponce de Leon, rest assured. What I AM going to say is that every year that passes reminds me of the fallacy of the human body and the inevitability of the aging process. It keeps a flame under my seat to make the most of every opportunity before I'm donned in an embroidered "praying hands" sweatshirt, arguing my receipt at Rite-Aid after Bridge and/or sincerely laughing at the Cathy comic.