Remember John Mayer’s ‘quarter-life crisis‘? Derisive snort, right? Who has a crisis at 25? Get to 40 — heck, go for gold and get to 50, and then talk to me. I’ll give you crisis. It’s called ‘middle-age spread.’ It’s called ‘will my IRA last through retirement?’. It’s called ‘osteoarthritis.’ It’s called bifocals. “A rose by any other name”? Hardly. Still…
Newsflash: We’re all getting older. It’s how life works, friends. Since the only alternative is the one we get a bit nervous about, we need to shut up and deal with our advancing age. And to do that, we’re going to need a “little help from our friends.”
Ever find yourself realizing you’re the only one who ‘didn’t get the memo’? No one told you it was casual Friday… no one mentioned the dinner out was dutch treat…no one felt compelled to discuss latest fashion trends…no one stopped you from buying the last remaining ticket for a ride on the struggle bus…
As a frequent driver and lone passenger on that most miserable of vehicles, I submit the following ‘aging gracefully’ memo. Consider it a ‘little help,’ friends.
1. No one is fooled by the ‘subtle alterations’ also known as excessive plastic surgery. Seriously. NO one.
2. Separate, outdoor, claw-footed bathtubs remain wholly ineffective for, you know — that special moment. Key word: separate. Hello????? Plus, no one really wants to know about your struggles and/or successes in achieving the ‘special moment.’ Seriously. NO one.
3. Hair color should probably stay realistic. No one believes that the raven tresses of your youth magically grow into goldilocks. Seriously. NO one.
4. Regarding fashion for the ages, 50 may be the new 30 (which I suppose means 60 is the new 40). But put your quarter-, mid-, or full-life crisis aside, because no one believes that you’re 20 anymore. Seriously. NO one.
Whether it’s Botox®, Cialis®, Clairol®; whether it’s plastic surgery or dentistry gone awry, friends don’t let friends buy a ticket to ride alone on the struggle bus (which is headed straight for Fantasyland, by the way.) Nope. Friends do one of two things. They haul their friends’ sorry-ass backsides off that bus, or they get on and ride with them. It’s as simple as that, really.