Now that I am no longer twenty or even thirty or forty for that matter, and have turned the corner to come face to face with my baby boomer-ness, I love it!
I recently celebrated a birthday that surprised me with a black cake all decked out with tombstone and grim reaper. One rarely sees these cakes in England but I have to admit they are a wake up call for the recipient who comes tumbling firmly down to earth at the sight of a grave cut devilishly into the confection.
Now that I am over the hill I can be myself. I am no longer an object to be wheedled into bed, serve as arm candy or paraded as a trophy. Not that I was ever that kind of girl to my way of thinking, but I couldn’t, and still can’t, control men’s reactions to me.
After a physical attack in the street when I was in my twenties, followed by an accusation by the police (when I reported it) of inviting the assault because of my summer dress and bare legs and culminating with an icy caution from my interrogator (a woman),
“How else do you expect men to behave when you go about dressed like that?”
I deliberately stopped using makeup, doing my hair any way except scraping it back in a ponytail and wearing clothes that flattered me. I strove for invisibility.
Then I gave birth to four children, came to my senses in my forties and re-thought my image. Why was I feeling miserable and looking miserable just because men couldn’t keep their minds off sex? I decided it was their problem not mine, I went back to applying makeup, doing my hair and dressing to please MOI! As Miss Piggy would say!
Today, as I boom, I feel brilliant going out looking my absolute best. From behind or in age defying candlelight a man may feel stirrings in his nether regions when he notices me, but once he gets a closeup of my angular face that’s traded its baby-fat for baby-boom he may become interested in my mind…
But at this booming age, frankly, my dears, I don’t give a damn!