Saturday, November 25, 2006

All Grown Up

I am officially old. 100% Geritol searching, callus pad wearing, furniture shopping old. How has it all come about? How did I morph from a certifiably weird 22-year-old to a forty-year-old woman?

It all started with chairs. The moment I stepped into that furniture store, I aged instantly. A saleswoman, in awe over my transformation, immediately scurried over and pressed her card into my hand. She followed me around as I looked at chairs, squealing over my choices like I was a certified interior designer. I sat in chairs, looked at color swatches and looked at overpriced accent tables. I had officially grown old. My aging process quickened as I cursed the traffic (damn young'uns) and searched for accent tables. Thirsty and experiencing symptoms of claustrophobia, I headed home.

As a new adult, I decided I was big enough to get the attic decorations all by myself. Upon opening the attic, I realized the folly of my ways as I received a faceful of fiberglass, dust and dirt. I was surprised a dead cockroach wasn't tap dancing in my hair. As old as I may have been, I continued the tradition by thinking I was stronger than I was. It was only sheer luck that kept me from toppling off the ladder onto my car or cement as I tried to lift down boxes that were too heavy for me. Unable to replace the Sheetrock that covered the hole in the ceiling, I took a shower. As a prissy older adult, I didn't like the sheet rock clinging to my hair and the itching that had consumed my skin like fire.

My journey into aging was topped off with being taken out to dinner and a trip out to Home Depot, where I began to contemplate what colors the paint the kitchen and living room. We measured and contemplated about what kind of chairs to get, and looked at pictures online. Having a sensible snack, we retired around 11.

Now, the Invisible Friends are rolling their eyes. "God, it's just one day," they sigh gustily. "Stop this pity party already! What is your DEAL?"

My deal is that at the grocery store today, I bought callus removers. That's right, callus removers. These removers are currently gracing the bottom soles of my feet, feeling like squishy innersoles. As I showed them off to Ben, he laughed and said the thing I feared most.

"Callus medication at 22? Getting old aren't you?"

4 comments:

Mama K said...

As I sit here with my back cramping and my knees creaking, I am thinking of you and your footsies and am in full sympathy! You probably need to get some really good shoes to work in - you can no longer go for "cutesy and darling" if you are going to be on your feet for 8 hours a day. If your feet hurt - you will hurt all over! That's a scientific fact.

The Blonde Duck said...

The calluses are located on the exact spot where I tend to twirl and dance- they are dancing calluses. As I refuse to give up my dancing, I suppose I am predestined to nasty, callus infested feet. But it is all worth it to twirl and leap about!

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