just call me G
Another Tuesday, another night of karaoke. So why am I not excited? I got dressed up, bared my cleavage, and put on make-up. So why do I feel like I should have been at home knitting or something?
For starters...I. Do. Not. Knit. Let's make that perfectly clear. Not that knitting is bad. I like knitted things. And if I'm being honest (and maybe I am, maybe I'm not) I wish I knew how to knit. My mother tried to teach me (what seems like) a million years ago, but it was hopeless. I don't have the coordination for detail work involving sharp sticks. So why am I suddenly feeling nostalgic about cable-knit blankets?
Because there is a grand baby out there, that's why. It's not even midnight and I feel like I should be in bed. What the ever loving hell is going on with me? Am I suffering from some crazy psychosomatic illness? Did I imagine this new streak of gray that seemed to crop up over night? I can't be this old. I just can't be! I was young yesterday, and today I'm...I'm...somebody's g-word (I still haven't decided on the proper title yet, despite why I may have said last week.) See? I'm even getting forgetful!
Can women have midlife crises? Is that even what this is? Maybe I simply have low blood chocolate? Will a great big bag of Hershey's kisses solve everything?
Hey, they can't hurt, right?
So what if I'm getting old. It's not like I didn't see this coming. Every year I have a birthday, and we add another candle to the cake. And sure, this year we may need to have a fire crew standing by until we finish singing Happy Birthday, but so what? I'm still fun. I'm still playful. I still read YA fiction. I will not go quietly into the abyss while life passes me by!
First thing tomorrow morning, I'm going out to by crayons and grape Kool Aid. It's time to nip this "granny" stuff in the bud.
Until the next time...I'll be grabbing a sweater and taking a nap.