Wild Woman Wednesday

RATED P

I could only relate this to all of you on a Wild Woman Wednesday.

This blog posting is rated “P” which means if you need to potty, please do so before reading because I’m not responsible for the results…

My beloved, wonderful and absolutely amazing hero of a Mom turns 77 today. I tell you this to brag on her, of course. But I have to confess, I think she is aging much better than I am. The other night I was going downstairs to the kitchen, and by the time I reached my destination (we’re talking all of three minutes tops… my house is seriously not a McMansion… it’s more like a cottage on the dollar value menu). But I digress…

So anyway, as I was saying, I’m at the kitchen counter, and as I stand there quietly, I begin shaking my head slowly, because yes, yet again, I have completely and utterly forgotten why I have taken this little trek. Sigh.. After a moment, I notice my crazy adorable little grey-haired bird legs and no butt Mamma standing in the kitchen with me. Being the ever concerned person she is, especially when it comes to her only daughter, she asks what’s wrong. I sigh again, and admit I cannot for the life of me remember why I was there. “Oh! “ she says with glee, “you were looking for the aspirin!” Yes, wild women, my 77-year-old mother had to remind me why I was there. At that point, I REALLY needed the aspirin, because I was giving myself a headache straining to recall my mission. When did I become able to remember the lyrics to a Herman’s Hermits song from the 60’s, but can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday?

But it gets better. I have committed the unthinkable. I have done what is the quintessential seal of becoming older… its worse than when you find the first gray hair on your head. It’s worse than finding the first gray hair in your eyebrow. It’s worse than the first gray hair… ummm.. well, never mind…. It’s even worse than looking at your knees, thinking you need to buy new stockings because these are baggy, and realizing you’re not even wearing stockings.

I (choke, hang my head) have … dare I say it? Dare I admit it? I have….

Yes, I have taken my cell phone and put it in my bra. There, I’ve said it. I admit it. It has come to this… my brassiere has now become my second purse. Is there anyone out there under 50 who has ever done this? Probably not… I have come to the boomer generation stage when, while standing in line at the grocery store, my left boobala will begin to ring and vibrate and someone will ask me to please answer my bra. I’ve confessed it to the world and spoken it out into the universe… I have a ringing boobala. What’s next? Half of a leftover prune Danish? And I’ll probably reach into my bra and forget what I went there for and look even MORE ridiculous as I give myself a strip search!

So there you go, wild women, this is my plight, my future….my…. hmmm… what was I talking about? Oh yes, where did I put that ginkgo biloba?????

Blessings,

Coach Linda