Yesterday, while reaching into the pocket of a coat I hadn't worn in a while, my hand found a piece of candy. A peppermint, left from last season. That's hardly news breaking, unless you consider that the day before I discovered a cinnamon disk in my fleece and upon checking my dress coat, I came upon a couple of cough drops. You guessed it: hard candy, in every coat pocket. How very grandma of me. At least it wasn't Pep-O-Mint Lifesavers or Beech Nut gum like my PaPa used to always carry, but it's close.
I laughed it off, and then the realization started to hit: I seem to be going granny lately. A few weeks ago, I told Clint not to throw away the aluminum foil I used cooking our dinner. It was still in good condition and so I folded it and put it back in the drawer for future use. Who under the age of 70 does that?
I'll go another step further and embarrassingly tell you that I wrapped a gift last week with a super cute ribbon from a gift I got months ago. And SAVED. Oh my lawd, I have a drawer of used aluminium foil and a closet storing old ribbon. Nanaville, I am running for mayor.
When we got the new car, the salesman said something about hooking up Bluetooth or installing some card for us, and/or syncing up an iPod or some such. Ladies and gentlemen, I have no idea what he was saying or why one would want these things. Yours truly doesn't own an iAnything. My cell phone is at least six years old and stays in the console of my car in case I need to call AAA. Otherwise, it's never even on and I certainly do not text. I know it's what all the kids are doing these days, but I don't get into newfangled stuff like that.
I suppose another geriatric trait of mine is my devout love of mail. One of the high points of my day is checking my mailbox. Not email, mind you, the snail mail. Christmas makes me giddy because there is the constant possibility of cards awaiting for one glorious, envelope-filled month.
Where do I go from here? The next thing you know, I will be using words like beauty shop, housecoat, and watching my programs. I guess I will be tucking Kleenex into my sweater sleeve like James Dean with cigarettes in his white t-shirt (they must teach you the Kleenex stash in Old Lady 101, because they do it to sheer perfection). Or saving tennis balls for the tips of my walker.
Watch out, AARP. I may not be 50 yet, but since I'm a housewife, I'm technically considered "retired" and if I keep on the path I'm carefully walking so as not to break a hip, I may petition for early membership. I can use my discount in addition to the early bird special at Piccadilly cafeteria, yes?
In the meantime, I need to get out of this housecoat and over to the beauty shop, so I'll be home in time to watch my programs. I'll meet up with you later tonight at bingo.