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cucumber on eyesWhat I love about being just two over sixty is that I don’t even care anymore about the foolishness of turning the big O because I laugh and say the next morning, phew I have ten more years til I have to worry about this old business again.

Sixty is quite a mouthful, but I don’t stress about it the way I did when I was 40. Oh those ten unwanted pounds have to come off by July 7th and then I will be able to face the new decade with my new body. New body my ass. I hate spanks.

Today, I love my one process dye job every six weeks because my colorist whips up my potion and says it’s so good how this clings to your white hair. I know because people stop me on the street in New York, Rome, and Martha’s Vineyard to remark on my hair color. I hand out Bruce’s number from Westport Ct (203-255-4751) and pass it all over the world and say, “if you happen to be in the neighborhood call and use my name.”

I don’t blow dry my hair because it is straight and just like me it doesn’t need much maintenance.

I call myself Sister Gap, unlike my Sister Chanel. I say to my hairdresser “I’m low maintenance compared to her”.

He scream laughs and says, “OMG, your sister is not only high maintenance she’s a CAREER!” …and I shake my head in glee.

At this juncture, low maintenance sounds pretty good, no sculpted nails, no tin foils strips and a little bit of sun goes a long way. I like the carefree look. Give me a t-shirt and white jeans and a great pair of handsome earrings and I’m good to go. I just can’t wear those wedge shoes anymore- they hurt my ankles- so 5′ 4″ has to do, but I’m still standing.

I love to laugh, because at this stage there is nothing more fun than a set of giggles that sends my loose tummy into spasm.

I’m not saying that this is all a ball of fun and that it is easy, because I am now introduced to a new word: sciatica. This reminds me that this is the precursor to a new aisle at the pharmacy which includes corn plasters, ben-gay and hemorrhoids creams and silver vitamin pills for the seniors and I smile at vaginal cream. I guess I’m lucky I never had a hot flash or a symptom. My divorce was, well I called it, “Men, oh pause.”

Discounts on movie tickets sounds appealing until I turn around and look at the crowd trying to find their IDs and I wonder when my aging spots and memory loss will multiply.  It’s the photos that friends send saying this is the best photo of you… and you look at yourself with horror at that horrid neck. You promised you would never wear the triple strand Barbara Bush pearls, but now they are a possibility.

It is bad enough to try and remember your phone number; but now what about all the password codes I need to know just to find out how much I have in my checking account and should I use electronic checks to pay my bills? Nope, I am still holding out. I call an organizer. I used to call it multi-tasking but nope I have to admit it is ADD, and creative people have a lot of procrastination because face it is all so interesting. I call it my accordion mind. Compartmentalizing is a guy’s tool. It works for them and I admire it but I love to linger in my overstuffed brain and overthink. Where is the internal delete button. Oh that’s what dementia is good for later on.

My kids text and they don’t ever pick up a call. God forbid, I have to leave a phone message that I’m on a gurney headed into surgery and they find out two days later that I have slipped into a coma. Note to self, call my lawyer and make sure everything is in order so I can get on that plane and check out with no mess.

My dog understands this completely as he sits and watches me check the days off as the year flies by.

Whatever happened to the late l950’s when I said “Oh no Mom, we have 364 more days til Christmas as Santa’s loot lay strewn under the tree.

It seemed like an eternity.

 It’s July 17th 2014 and Labor day is careening fast forward to August.  No,I’m not quite comfortable with notations on the i-phone.It’s those posted notes that have just a number and no name that I have scribbled down. I ask myself who belongs to this number and crumple the pink square and toss it.  Instead of playing Suduko, I promise to take more computer lessons just to have an edge up and feel as smart as my phone.

So a hint from me to my gorgeous friends and readers; if you can’t remember, forget about it– it slips back like the filmy answer in the window of the 8 ball, wear your bold as if it were gold, and eat as if you are on the trip of a lifetime.

Because really… you are!!

I’m Low Maintenance…At Least Compared To Her was last modified: by

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