I attended a friend's 50th high school reunion last night. Unlike my flaky class, they have gotten together faithfully every five years. That's a good idea. Then no one looks shocked when they see you again. Lordy, these folks were old! But, wait. My 50th is only three little years away! That means I'm old, too! Well, not inside. Inside I still feel like a teenager. They played a lot of 50s music, some of it worth hearing again. I danced, though not with my friend. He's too old for that now. And it was the women who really tore up the dance floor. Hooray for my gender! Though a lot of them were kind of fluffy, there wasn't all that much wrong with them that a good, courageous haircut wouldn't solve. And, after sitting in classrooms with youngsters, it was fun being the youngest at the party. So, here I go, back to the pool, to keep my girlish figure, keep my heart happy, and just feel ALIVE. I think that is the problem. Old doesn't mean dead. Maybe it means slower, but not full stop. Ever.
No comments:
Post a Comment