So 90 is the new 70.
I say this because I heard my 78 year old brother in law
extolling the virtues of his new neighbor, “Beautiful, just beautiful,” he
described her, “Ninety two years old and doesn't look a day over 70.”
I thought he was joking, but he wasn’t.
I wonder if we will ever get over this comparison thing we
women are subjected to. I had to speak
sharply with myself for feeling jealous of this 92-year-old beauty. I had to
stifle comments about hormones and plastic surgery.
I was just getting used to accepting my age and retiring the
whole youth thing and now I have to listen to old guys actually judging the
looks of a 92 year old woman?
I don't feel old. I bet she doesn't either. And how pleased
would she to be told she looks like she’s only 70? Is that really a compliment?
As my five year old grandson, Nicky, said, “You know,
grandma, you’re old.”
Thanks, Nick, for the reminder. But a fact is a fact. I thought I was leaving
all his competitive nonsense behind and it’s still out there dogging me.
My generation worked hard at liberating ourselves from
stereotypes. We rejected beauty contests and refused to be judged on our looks.
We earned degrees and got good jobs.
We didn't want to be judged on our looks when we were young
and we sure don't now.
My friend, Mary, who is 81, is my ideal. She looks like an
energetic, healthy 81 year old who can walk rings around me. She looks great at
81.
Can’t we just leave it at that?
