The age of cuteness
First let me say this is not a blog about golf. So for all of you wearing pants in bad prints, I apologize.
I have reached the age when I actually care about insurance with a prescription benefit. And I never pass up a clean restroom. And I don’t much give a damn whether people think I’m fat. So this is a blog involving the viewpoints of someone on the back nine of life. Feel free to play through with me.
There are many signs of aging that we are – if not exactly ready for – all aware are going to happen. Signs involving strange spots that weren’t there yesterday; a memory that floats just out of your reach; enough excess skin to incubate a penguin egg. But here’s one that surprised me: I have an ever-increasing desire for “cute” clothing.
I have spent my whole life in tailored business casual, avoiding blouses with embroidered daisies or slogans emblazoned across my chest. Ok, maybe a school logo but never “Dear Santa … could you define good?” Jeez.
But just lately, I find a hankering for the sweatshirt emblazoned with the polar bear in a scarf. Or a row of flamingos on my cruise wear. And, God help me, I actually have cruise wear. My closet is now full of delightful clothes with birds and gardens and appliquéd flip flops. I stop short of puppies and bunnies, but I have needlepoint ladybugs on my shoes. “Cute” blindsided me. But what a joyful surprise it was to find it here on the back nine.
If anyone knows where I can get the T-shirt that says “What if the hokey pokey is really what it’s all about?” please let me know.