The Little Black Dress Delusion

I just read a blog where this woman made a list of all the things she thought she’d be doing at 36. I am still trying not to pee my pants, because it is so funny! Here’s a sample:
· Attending Tupperware parties and bringing home leftover deviled eggs.
· Driving a station wagon. The original beacon for Yes, I Have Stretch Marks.
· Having a martini at 5pm every day. (Oh wait…got that one nailed.)
· Perfecting my skill at using spray starch when ironing. Sadly, I have not a clue.
· Slowing down in the drug store aisle to casually and nonchalantly find out the age I should be to begin taking Geritol.

Read more HERE.

Anyway, it cracked me up because I think we all see ourselves just a bit differently than others see us. Where did the time go? I have these moments where I really forget that I AM 36 years old. That’s the south side of 40, folks, and that is NOT youth no matter how well you can fit into clothes from Wet Seal.

For instance, last weekend I was in the L.A. area visiting my BFF Rosanna, and we went to a club. We sat in her enormous Southern California kitchen in her McMansion sipping martinis and sampling appetizers from Trader Joes before going out for the evening. We were dressed in our little black dresses (okay, for the record, Rosie is still under 30 so she is ALLOWED to wear hoochie momma clothes.) We were in the club dancing, have a nice time just like the old days, and we went over to the bar to order a drink. ON the bar (this was a nice, dress code enforced place ~ not a strip club) was a woman wearing almost nothing except go-go boots with the most perfect (mostly exposed) ass I have ever seen. I mean, not a dimple, not a stretch mark, not a single blemish on her perfect tiny little self and I found myself wanting to push her off the bar and say, “Don’t stand on the furniture! You know better!”