Purrrrr.

http://www.animevice.com/forums/rpg/34/phoenix
-wrights-bio/330411/

A 20-something guy nearly dropped his Mac and deftly caught it on the way down. We caught each other’s eyes as he exhaled in relief. 

“Nice catch,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “My parents would not have been happy with me if that had hit the ground.”

“It would have been a bit chilly for a while,” I agreed.

He stood up, all nicely muscled six feet of him, and said, “So – how are you doing?”

I looked up, startled. “Me? Not bad, all things considered. How are you?”

There was moment  of recognition when he suddenly realized I could easily be his mother – the one that would have been upset if he’d dropped his laptop – and he said, “Oh, I’m – fine!” and he fled.

Poor boy was confused. Perhaps terrified.  The young woman sitting next to him – the one his age – looked a little bewildered.

...vanilla cappuccino with an extra shot.

Score one for the not-wanting-to-be-but-clearly-mistaken-for-cougar variety. Yay? Ok. Yay.

This little scene reminded me of the refrain my dad would sing at random moments, before my mom got to be a certain age, “She could easily pass for 45 in the dusk with the light behind her.”  I think he  stopped before she hit fifty. He was smart that way.

I hope never to be one of those women desperately striving to keep the light behind me. Not long ago, though, I put on a favorite blouse. It’s sheer, hangs beautifully; it has a lovely black and white pattern. And then suddenly I thought: nope. Nope nope nope. I cannot rock puffy, elasticized sleeves at 50. That girlish, almost Anne-of-Green-Fucking-Gables wannabee thing?  There’s a date stamp on this sucker, and I, alas, have passed it. I mourned a bit, but I did take it off, and put it in the casket reserved for the Salvation Army donations.

When I glance in the mirror and suddenly have that slightly foolish feeling, that outfit goes to the Salvation Army, for the woman who will snatch it up and wonder who the hell let this one go? Me, honey – enjoy it with my blessing.  The Salvation Army, in wealthy areas such as Ann Arbor, is a great place to find good designer clothing, sometimes with the labels still attached.

 I was there recently and held up a hat with one of those cute little bows on it, the front pinned up, like something out of The Artist, and, again, thought that nope thing. I commented on that to a nearby woman, a slender blonde, who looked just past thirty.

...working it much better....

 “Oh, I think that’s not really true,” she said. “I mean, if you feel like you can rock it, wear it!”

Go back to Sex and the City, Cynthia, I thought.  You and your Jimmy Choo Who’s or whatevers.  Wait twenty years and about fifteen more wrinkles, then come talk to me.

I handed her the hat. “Try it with the bow on the side. It’s a cloche, so it works in several ways,” I suggested. “Like in The Artist.”

“Oh, I love that movie!”

I hated that movie. I smiled and went over to look at the purses.

I have a closet full of purses. You don’t ever have to “nope” a purse. Or at least, I haven’t had to so far. Then there's my Bugs Bunny purse. But nobody messes with my wascally wabbit.