I joke about getting older. Getting older's not a joke, its a blessing, really. It's not a joke that I am actually getting older, it's true (oh I wanted to so badly to say "true dat" instead, but it doesn't actually go with the older thing). But its so much more fun to complain about my granny fanny and D coming home with the wrong thing from the grocery store because I wrote the list in 12pt font instead of 104pt.
Not to mention my same age friends whose failing vision became undeniable when they were scanning online dating sites and mistook an "rn" for an "m" on a site that they thought was named "homeydates.com". You do the substitution and imagine their horror and the fun we have retelling that one, well when we can remember it anyway. The stories of our changing bodies, minds and eye sight bring hysterics and let's be honest...it's exceedingly better than getting depressed and none of us wants to be the first to opt for plastic surgery. I'm not saying it won't happen, just saying no body wants to be the first to exercise any anti-aging budget breakers. I mean, there's a lot of responsibility in being the first, cause you know peer pressure leaves about the time we'll start clipping coupons for Depends.
So, my aging view point has no problem keeping its compass needle pointed in the direction of self deprecating humor or I can't lie, a laugh at the expense of a good natured, quickly maturing old friend. Golden Girls, here we come!
BUT...this was a moment of shock and awe. The whole plum tree was over several weeks ago when I went out front and saw something so amazing, I had to rub my eyes first, look again, let out a shriek before covering my mouth and calling for all eyes on deck just to verify I was seeing right!
A woman, white haired, slightly bent over and slightly built was carrying a cane and JOGGING across the street from us. Now I only saw her from the back, but all signs pointed to her age being somewhere between Barbara Walters and Moses and I believe closer to the latter. Her slightly taller, matching-haired husband was walking along the public parkway path and at a cautious pace, but here was "Betty White" hustling along in the street, cane hitting the ground with every appropriate step,.
Talk about shame...I mean what in the heck have I been complaining about if Grandma Klampet, probably implanted with a pacemaker can be a pacemaker like that?
Well, I missed the picture and lets face it, what are the chances? Even if she survived the jog, clearly she wouldn't take such a chance like that again.
Except that she did and I was sitting in D's truck camera in hand. After I snapped what should have been her last steps, I noticed she pick up her cane every once in a while and glance back at her fella. Well, she could have been shaking that stick at him, but I don't wanna get in the middle of any 50+ flirting between a man and his girl.
I couldn't help but giggle. I mean what a moment. No fear, no hesitation, no limits, no obvious bladder leakage. Every woman wants to be pursued, and its tough to get chased when your always walking beside him. Maybe it was just a moment for her and a vision for her man...what's that line D says to me every once in a while when he catches a moment of romantic? "I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave."