Can’t I Age in Peace?

I’m at an age where the worst way someone can torture you is to follow you around whispering in your ear “Chico’s; it’s time to shop at Chico’s.”  Ok, Chico’s isn’t so bad; I don’t want to hear from their corporate headquarters either.  It’s just a metaphor for that certain time of life when we give in and get dull.

And I don’t fancy myself being there yet.

That said, it’s okay with me that I’m aging.  Yet I realize that in our culture it’s not okay with many people that they age, for sure, but even that I age.  

I’ve been a mother-of-the-bride for 2.5 weeks.  My daughter got engaged, and that puts me in a new category in some people’s eyes apparently.  For now all of my physical flaws are assumed to be PROBLEMS for me, problems that must be fixed before “the big day.”

Yesterday I was at the dentist.  And almost as painful as the drilling of a tooth without anesthesia (my dentist tried hard and all of me but the tooth went to sleep), was my dentist’s assertion that “Now that your daughter’s getting married we really need to do something about your yellow teeth.”  Ouch.

My opthalmologist had already shrieked aloud at the sheer weight and heft of my eyelids (see my post on that indignity:, assuming I would rush for the surgery to reduce their bulk.  Wait until she hears that a wedding is approaching.

Yesterday on the radio I heard an ad for some sort of under-eye-bag reduction product.  The announcer said in no uncertain terms that I deserve to eradicate that problem.  Surely it’s true.  

It just can’t be possible that bodies age, faces wrinkle, hair turns grey.  Oh, I forgot to mention that someone said, yesterday, “Oh, now that your daughter’s engaged, you’re going to dye your hair again, right?”  

I am a mother-of-the-bride because I was already a bride, and then I aged 27 years, and people’s children grow up and get married (and that is okay).  Except that the emotional/relational pieces are a little harder to me than the “Will I look like I am aging a bit on her wedding day?”… but that’s another story.

In my family we get grey hair early, and some of us have heavy eyelids that droop, and yet there’s nothing genetic that says I have to get my mother-of-the-bride dress at Chico’s.  But then again, maybe I will.

~ by Cary on January 29, 2009.

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