golden girls, old lady, feel 90, feel old

Ways in which we feel 90

Is it possible that the pandemic has aged us 50 years? Apparently yes… because here are all the ways in which we feel 90

  • We used to think ‘Shut up!’ when we heard teenagers, on the street, gently carousing. Now we touch our hands to our hearts wistfully and think, ‘Bless them – so nice to hear the young people having fun.’
  • Suddenly we see the see the point of a sturdy shoe. Walking any considerable distance in hells went out in our late 20s. We accepted that when it was not possible to go straight from car to party/meeting/date, we could wear trainers with everything and that would be OK. Now we are veering (veered) towards the orthopaedic offerings. Ergonomic? In between runner’s heels, wandering toes, bunions and bruised balls. Comfort is everything.
  • We hear ourselves say, ‘Can I borrow your eyes?’ to anyone under the age of 30 when we cannot find something. The worrying part is that it’s not necessarily their eyes we need, it’s just that our memories are shot, so we need their ability to focus. We also keep playing the dance of light, looking for the brightest light possible by which to read anything in small print. Time for a head torch?
  • We think politicians are idiots – we’ll take a side if pressed (on election day) but now we are sure they are all awful. We used to get annoyed with our mothers for saying this – we thought it was apathetic and irresponsible – but now we totally agree. They are all idiots. IDIOTS.
  • When it rains we used to worry about our hair: the frizz, the flattening. Now we think, ‘Ah that will be good for the garden.’
  • Technology has broken up with us. We used to be the ones our parents called to sort out the television with our loose understanding of HDMI1 etc. Now, it’s all slipping through our fingers: there is always random music coming from our browsers and sometimes we have very confusing phone calls because we answered while watching Instagram Stories so the audio is running. We are always on mute in Zoom meetings; we are always the last to leave a meeting and the last shot of us frozen in a death mask. Is this what we will look like when we die: panicked and confused?
  • We watch all the telly but cannot remember any of the plots. Our heads are an uncomfortable mash-up of The Undoing, Unforgotten, Mare of Eastown – is Nicole Kidman in everything? Sometimes we Google the episodes ahead of watching so that we don’t get any nasty surprises, but mostly we are just terrified of talking about them with anyone, just in case we spoil the plot for all our 90 year-old buddies. SHE DIES??? HE DID IT?????
  • We used to buy nighties for sex. Now we’ve started our collection of hospital nighties, because there must be something sinister in the post…
  • … And, incidentally, just when we thought the knickers couldn’t get any bigger. They got bigger. Are we heading for an all-body pant? Hopefully.
  • Even our ear lobes feel old. Let alone THE HANDS. Incidentally if you have tattoos, DON’T LOOK AT THEM. We thought they’d be a talisman of eternal youth. Turns out they wrinkle too.
  • We have a pill box with a compartment for each day of the week. We can’t actually close the little lids because pills are flowing out of each section… why are pills so big?
  • We’ve started to base ourselves in bed – that’s where the magic doesn’t happen.
  • Most of the time we can’t be bothered to talk. Maybe we’ve said everything we have to say in this life…
  • ‘Too long’ is our critical response to anything. Because everything is now too long: How was your evening? “Went on a bit.” What did you think of that bestseller? ‘Could have taken an edit.” The TV show? “Too many seasons.” The film? “Needed a cut.” This article? “TOO LONG.”
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