How I Know I’m Growing Old Edition 5ish

As you all know, I LOVE writing about how old I am. I wrote about it here, here and even here. Oh wait, here too.

My Old People Shoes: I undertook the scary task some months ago of going shoe-shopping. I was looking for some ‘normal’ slip-ons to take the place of my black chappals that I pretty much live in, just in case I actually needed to go somewhere where actual shoes were required when I went on my visit to the US. To my surprise, I found a pair I actually liked, and were within my budget, and hadn’t exceeded my two hour shopping trip exhaustion limit. I was quite proud of myself and wore the shoes several times.

One morning I was at the beauty salon (are they still called that?) feeling quite put together with my new shoes, but trying to avoid awkward small-talk (as INTJs do), when an old lady in her 70s came up to me. Then she said the words any woman in her 30s would dread: “Where did you get your shoes? I’ve been searching all over for this exact type!” Why yes, I had picked out the exact style that old ladies love to wear.

My Fashion Style: I had been feeling like I needed something easy but artistic to add to my hair. “How about a flower?” I thought. We were at a mall, and I looked at a few, but they mostly seemed childish and overpriced. I went home, but my sister kept an eye out for one, and soon sent me a picture of a couple of options. I liked the red rose, so she bought that one for me. I wore it one day to school, and felt pretty happy with myself.

We went on a trip to Vasai last weekend for a retreat, and I decided to take my rose along, just in case the flower-wearing mood struck me. I didn’t wear it to Adoration because it made me a little self-conscious, but wore it to the celebratory Lord’s Day dinner. I looked at the other fashionable younger women though, and none of them seemed to be wearing flowers. “Hmm, maybe I’m just artistic but not fashionable.” The next day at Mass at a little church the truth was revealed to me. The roses WERE in fashion – I saw the EXACT rose I was wearing… in the hair of multiple authentic Maharashtrian middle-aged aunties wearing sarees as they worshipped.

My References to ‘Young People’: When I started as a Catholic full-timer in India, I remember laughing with my team at priests constantly talking about ‘youngsters’. I stopped laughing recently when I started noticing how often the term ‘young people’ made it into my conversation… and how I usually was NOT including myself in that category.

My Solidarity with My Dad’s Road Rage: My dad and I were riding to meet my family for lunch. We were on my Activa, and as our light turned green, we rode forward with the rest of the flow of traffic. Into this law-abiding group of citizens barreled a rickshaw cutting a red light and blocking us. What I usually do in such circumstances is dodge the offender and shoot him or her a dirty look. But this was my dad. What HE did was bellow, “WHOOAAA!!!!!!” at the rickshaw driver. In previous years, I world have been mortified. Instead I heartily approved and even muttered, “Blinkin’ idiot,” as we passed. I have become my dad.

My Intolerance of Any Noises in the Night: “Do they have any idea what time it is?” “Are they not aware that there are people sleeping?” “Grumble grumble this is ridiculous - so what if they’re celebrating, do we all have to suffer because they are happy?”

My Love for The Seekers: So if you don’t know The Seekers, this won’t make as much of an impression. Let me turn to Wikipedia to describe what I mean. Yes, The Seekers are an Australian folk-influenced pop quartet from the sixties. So you will often see me cooking and singing along to ‘Hey there, Georgy Girl’ and ‘A World of Our Own’. My mum used to listen to this band (when she was pregnant with me which apparently explains everything), and often sings their songs too, so I guess I’m becoming my mum too.

People Guessing I’m Older Than I Am: I’ve been so confident about my youthful looks that I’m always a little cocky about telling people I’m ‘REALLY OLD’ and still having them guess that I’m in my mid-2os. Well, that back-fired recently when a couple of new friends took me at my word, and guessed that I was either 35 or 37. Got a good helping of humility (or do I mean humiliation) there.

In conclusion, I am 32. But really 40 isn’t THAT far away, so I’m just trying to get mentally prepared for that by calling myself old 8 years in advance. (Sorry you aged 40 year olds.)