For the Birds

24 10 2013

inspiration Apparently I’m an ageist. I love old people but I don’t every want to be one. When mother suggested a hypnotherapist I became more self-aware of my prejudice.

I tend to get very anxious this time of year. The holiday season is uncomfortable. New Year’s a reminder that I should be bettering myself, and my Scorpio birthday—an even louder reminder that I am getting older.

At age 26, I began microdermabrasion treatments and applying anti-ageing creams to my face in an attempt prevent pre-mature signs of my birthday. I looked closely in the mirror for wrinkles, wondering how it’s possible to occasionally still get a zit in my mid-twenties. Isn’t acne for teenagers?

Maybe zits are just a condition of the mind’s perception. Maybe I still get them from time-to-time because from time-to-time I act like a teenager.

This weekend I went to a party dressed like a retired and fabulous Florida snowbird. My friends are moving to Florida for work and the going-away party was themed for the occasion. I wore geriatric sunglasses in the dark of night to prove how committed to the character I was. About halfway through the dinner I realized that my golf club accessory had been confused for a cane.

Ashley approached me laughing. “Whitney, my little brothers just asked me who the blind girl was!”

Eureka.

At first I was mad that my costume had portrayed the wrong character. I wanted to be a rich, retired, Floridian adorned in excessive pearls—not a crazy blind girl in too much makeup. But I’m a serious lemon-squeezer and thought it better to make lemonade than cry over spilled milk. Lord knows my Florida character needed the calcium.

And so, at almost 27-years-young, I went bar-hoping—pretended to be blind, scored free drinks from gullible, sympathetic strangers and cut in line for the bathroom. I know what you’re thinking: and no I don’t think it’s offensive. It’s my aggressive exhibitionist proclivity that gets hazardous drunk on social discomfort that’s offensive. At about midnight, the bouncer at the nightclub took my golf club.

florida

“Whitney,” said Vinnie, “you’re  going to hell. Like, literally, you just jumped on the fast track straight to hell.”

“That’s ridiculous V-Dog,” I slurred between sips. “That place is  make-believe.”

 

So, I’m aging.

But I’ve still got it—zits and all.

 

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