Age is a funny thing.
I celebrated by 54th birthday last week.
Some people don’t want to tell their age. I always ask people’s ages when I interview them, and people either quickly tell me or balk. I always find that strange. What’s wrong with telling people how long you’ve been alive?
If you look years younger than your age, then good for you. Why wouldn’t you embrace that? If you look your age or older, tough. It is what it is, as the overused saying goes. Genetics plays a big role in your looks (along with smoking, drinking and eating junk food, of course.)
On the opposite side, some people are so proud that they’re older, as if it’s something they can control. My late mother-in-law used to be annoyed at people who bragged about their age. Come to think of it, she didn’t want me to put her birth year in my firstborn son’s baby book, but she was a beautiful 80 with a sharp mind when she died.
I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel a little panic when I look in the mirror and wonder how I turned into a Chinese Shar-Pei overnight. I do have a drawer full of useless creams for wrinkles. I will admit I’ve gotten Botox a couple of times on the “11” between my eyes, and I loved the results. That’s as far as I’ll go, though.
Had I chosen to avoid the sun entirely my whole life, I’d have a face like a baby. Have you seen some of those 100-year-old monks who look 30? I did not worship the sun, but I did go through the era where “laying out” slathered with baby oil was a thing. I’ve learned better.
I had a wonderful birthday, with lots of sweet and funny cards and texts from friends and family. None referred to age, surprisingly.
One thing that dawned on me this year is how annoying it is when people wildly underestimate your age to be cute.
A waiter where I had my birthday dinner — we’ll call him Bradley, because that was his name — said, “What are you — 35?”
He was a perfectly wonderful 20-something waiter, but that comment did not earn him an extra tip.
This morning at work, a visitor to the office saw my birthday balloons, so he commented on them. “What are you, 21?” he asked.
Not. Funny. It just means they think I look old enough that those remarks will flatter.
Come to think of it, these comments are always from men. Women do not make these little alleged jokes. Sometimes women do react in surprise and say, ‘You don’t look it.” That comment I will accept.
I’ve decided I’m going to start upping my age 10 years when somebody asks, and then they will be impressed.
But why should I care?
I’m not quite at the when-I-am-old-I-shall-wear-purple-and-a-red-hat-that-doesn’t-go stage, but I’m getting there.
With age comes wisdom and freedom.
A friend of mine was talking about needing her hair done, but she wasn’t going to be able to go. Not that it mattered, she said. “I’m 84, and I look it, and I feel it,” she said.
I respect that. She’s earned it.
And so have I.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.