Most women I know over a certain age are jealous of younger women. I guess I would be too under the right circumstances. If my husband left me for an MTV watchin’ 20-something, it would seriously suck. But that not being the case, so far, I don’t mind the young girls.

Let’s be honest. How hard is it to be a “hottie” at 20 something? Ok…so your cute, but what have you done to earn it? When I see these toned and tight girls, shoveling down mounds of chicken wings, burgers and beers after 9 pm, I have to secretly smile and think to myself…sugar, your ass is gonna hit the floor any minute now.  I mean really given our cultural environment of sedentary junk food junkies, they are likely to end up in the same shape I am in now someday. It’s enough to make me feel sorry for them…well…almost anyway.

As for me, well I just hit that 50 mark and you could say I have been fighting a new sparked attitude about health and fitness.  We set up a “torture machine” in the garage and at least once a day I trudge out there and give it a good look, dust off the seats, test the weights and then remember I left something on the stove.  Every now and then I do actually push and pull, squat and thrust, balance and bend but gaining “hotness” by this method is a slow and painful process and I am not one to have patience.  I have even given the “eating healthier” thing a try.  I don’t mind leafy green things, crunchy orange things and letting go of the butter, sugar and salt, and for the most part I don’t eat much in the red meat department either. It’s fins and feathers most of the time.

I know that for the most part I am pretty healthy, if you don’t count the annoying aches and pains of being 50.  I do however have a bit of regret that had I been on this sensible regime back in my 30’s, I would be the cat’s pajamas by now.  I mean I was considered cute…5 dress sizes and 20 years ago. Don’t get me wrong I know I can’t be that “tight-ass, perky boobed,  flat tummy, beach bunny” but at least I wouldn’t be dealing with my ass hanging out the bottom of  my peddle pusher, my boobs migrating south and my tummy working as a T.V. tray at dinner time. 

The women I hate, I mean really hate, are the ridiculously well-preserved  50 – 70 somethings. The green tea sipping, yoga practicing matrons just PISS ME OFF. How dare they flaunt all that foresight and good sense in my face; strutting around the gym with their chiseled thighs and glowy skin. I’d look like that too if I’d been living on brown rice and vegetables for the last 20 years. 

I’d much rather commiserate with others who were as dumb as I was. We can talk about how hard it is to raise a child without overdosing on cupcakes and pizza. We could discuss how our husbands have grown to accept us in our chubbiness, and how no one else really cares how we look anymore. How’s that for motivation to stay fit? 

 So you ask… what brought on this rant? I ran into one of THOSE women at the store last night. I was stooped over my shopping cart, sweating like a pig thanks to menopause, and who do I spy next to me? A gorgeous, super-fit, ‘older’ woman.  She had that look of serenity and self-satisfaction that I’ve learned to loathe, but I swallowed my anger and gave her a neighborly nod. I stood there in the produce department and watched her fill her basket with all those fresh veggies and I just had to ask if she was a vegetarian since there was not one processed or animal product in that cart. She smiled at me and very graciously replied yes she was.

” Well, you look great, I wish I could look that good. How long have you a vegetarian?”

“Oh, about 20 years or so.”

“Ahhh, and how old are you now, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Sixty-seven on my next birthday. I have five kids too.”

I didn’t ask for an offspring tally. She’s just rubbing it in.

“ So what made you become a vegetarian?”

“I don’t know, I just figured if I wanted to stay healthy and looking my best as I got older… It’s not automatic you know. You’ve got to work at it.”

Uh oh, my fake-friendly face is starting to grimace.

“Well thanks for the chat…gotta go.”

” Hey, I’m also a food specialist, so if you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask. My name is Marianna.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She even has a pretty name… sprightly bitch!

Needless to say, I left the store without my Twinkies and potato chips…thanks.


 I wouldn’t mind some chicken wings and a cold ice tea  right about now. Hmmm, what’s on the way home? There’s Ramshackles on 27…..

              Nope, better go home and make a spinach smoothie. Damn!


Posted on October 22, 2010, in HUMOR FOR THE COMMON SOUL and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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