Aging My Ass

Last week someone told me I was an “old lady”.

I told her I wasn’t an old lady and asked her why she called me that.

“Because you are an old lady”.

I chuckled.

What does she know?  She’s only five.

Then something occurred to me.

She will remember me as an old lady.

What. The. Hell.

I am the age of life.   And the age of life is not defined as old.   It is defined as whatever age I am and I am living life.

So here’s the deal to anyone defining me as an old lady.  Or, for that matter, anyone trying to define ‘old’ on anyone.   “Old” will no longer be defined by chronological age or biological age.  Nope.  Age will be defined by me.  DIBS!    I met a 93 year old lady yesterday who a year ago her son in law had to make her get off of the roof of her house.  She was trying to repair some damage, she knew she could do it so she went up to do it.   Got the ladder, propped it up, and went up on the roof.  I laughed.  His eyes got wider.   I told him I hope to be climbing roofs when I’m 92.   As a matter of fact, you can count on it.   But I will be 95.  I will  just climb up there, sit upon the roof top, and cackle like mad.  I might even kick the ladder over.  And when the kids and the grand kids and the great grand kids are yelling at me to not fall, hold on, they’re coming, I’m going to stand up on the slanted roof and dance a jig.  A jig I didn’t learn until I was 89.  I’m going to listen to them gasp and a couple of them will scream.

I will then sit down and write a blog about it.   While I’m up on the roof.  And I will post with the blog, a picture of the group of people gathered below me yelling up at me.  Them standing there shielding their eyes trying to make sure they use their will power to keep me from falling.  Every once in awhile I’ll make a sudden move …. just to hear them gasp.

I will laugh when I hear them talking about who didn’t take the ladders out of the garage?   Who put the ladder there anyway?  What do you mean she did it herself!

I will make a paper plane of the blog post from May 3, 2013 that I stuck in my back pocket before going up there.   I will sail it through the air right in to her hands.  Because by then I will be a master at paper plane making and paper plane flying.    She will open it and read it.

She will look up at me and laugh.

I’m going to  point at her and say “your the old lady!”  Because when I climb up there at 95 she will be the age I was last week.

She will smile.

She might even join me on the roof.

We’ll toast with coffee or Diet Coke because I still don’t drink alcohol (that could change but likely not).

And I will tell her that I redefined ‘old lady’ just for her and that I love her much.