Am I Really This in Love with the Over Eighty Crowd?

Damn, I love those pruney little bastards.

Old people rock. Period. They get all the best discounts, drive how they want, say what they want, eat when they want, and wear what they want. They are like Willona from Good Times (or for you young Generation XYYYY carry the 1 kids, Russel Brand…without the sex addiction).

One of my friends recently went on vacation. She posted a photo of the pool bar completely populated by those well into their 70s and 80s. At first I asked if this was a scene from Cocoon. Then I thought, good for them! They are rocking those swim trousers sashaying down the water slide. Who cares? Not them. How awesome to be that free!

But I did not always feel this way. I was once seriously uncomfortable around old people.

As a Girl Scout, I cringed every time we had to go to the old folk’s home to sing Christmas Carols. The elders would want to reach out and give me a hug during the middle of “Silent Night.” I would always try to scooch away, only to have one grab onto my patch-work sash for dear life. I was scared. They smelled like moth balls and vinegar.

Now, I find those in their glorious golden years to be clever, enlightening, and pretty funny when they toot (when a thirty-nine year old woman farts in public it is slightly embarrassing and a little bit sad).  As a nation, we try to take care of our golden oldies. There are also some pimp senior living condos out there.

So why do people avoid getting older?

As a society, we fear aging. We often lie about our birthdays, date younger people, and slap on magical face creams promising youth. I too am one of those fearful millions. In fact, if Jennifer Aniston touted drinking oil sludge twice a day to look like her for the rest of my life, I would sucker punch an old lady to be the first one in line. So much work goes into avoiding the inevitable.

Take Demi Moore for example. She is ridiculously beautiful. While she is not really that old (she is 49), I have only seen a few people who look that great at that age. They are called mannequins.

Damn, she has got to be tired.

It has to be so much work to keep that up. The constant exercising, limiting food diet, creams, lotions, not imbibing, and nips and tucks. Does she sleep? Society was so sad when she and Ashton Kutcher broke up. I thought – thank God. Now this poor broad can take a nap. She does not have to keep up with his new and trendy lingo. No more tweeting (Christ, the tweeting) 850 times a day, or having to worry about if both Ashton and her daughter passed their Algebra tests. Someone send sweet Demi to the spa to relax. She has earned it!

When you’re old, who gives a crap? No more working so hard to make sure your face stops sagging. You made it! Hooray. Go and engrave a plaque with a picture of you giving the middle finger to a bottle of Oil of Olay.

Too often we obsess about age spots and saggy skin. I say screw it, where that bikini. In a few years your ass will be hanging to the back of your knees and won’t you regret not wearing one. We need to embrace getting older. Give it a hug, pat it on the rump and say, “Oh I will make sweet love to you later, but first, let’s grab a drink.”

So tonight, do it old school style (seriously, like using a car crank old). Raise you glass of Metamucil, sit down to your IHOP dinner at 4:30 p.m., and for the love of God do not drive about 25 mph.

Because….you can damn it!

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