Speaking Geezer

Have you ever done that? Is that a second language to you, or are you wondering,"What in tarnation is she talking about?" (If the latter, you're fluent!)

Speaking geezer, if neither of the above applies to you, means employing phrases like, "When I was a kid," or "I had a car once," or, even, "Aren't you going to finish that?"

Or, like I've said recently, "Back in high school,..."

"I can't believe I saw..."

"I don't understand why..."

It's a tightrope. On the one hand, I am 53, after all. I entered a new demographic 8 years ago. People hold doors for me again, without apology. When I get out of bed in the morning, something protests. If it's not my back, it's my knees. Hair stylists arrange my coiffure so as to de-emphasize the jowls they tell me I don't have. I was told last weekend that my pretty manicure made the speaker remember her grandmother's hands. I haven't been able to shop in the junior section for about 20 years, but now even the misses' section can get a little racy, depending on the store.

Stop. I'm getting depressed.

On the other hand, there are people alive who remember me in diapers, and, no, I don't mean Depends. My youthful idiocy is trotted out regularly for all to see and laugh over.

I get no respect. And I'm old enough to remember that comedian.

Or I get too much respect. It's a balancing act.

Not that I regret anything. With these years comes a measure of wisdom and patience that my 25-year-old-self could never have imagined. And I wouldn't be 25 again on a dare.

35, maybe.

No, 40, because that was a year when I had all my kids and I didn't have any grandchildren yet.

Yeah, 40.

Which, now that I think of it, seems so young.

And that, my friends, is Geezer.