Putting my foot in it
Written in response to the Daily word-prompt ‘Fortune‘
I never wanted to reach any of these milestones so why should I accept it now?
When I was in my forties I was still having children, so being forty didn’t bother me, I was still enjoying the child bearing age, though even then I had friends with greying hair. However, any age number over fifty, seemed really old and I had no ambition to be that old, though maybe one day I might be proudly bragging “Do you know how old I am?”
A friend asked “Why haven’t you got a bus pass? You can travel for free out of Rush hour!”
I can imagine my daughters answering that one with “She doesn’t need a bus pass because she never goes anywhere!” It also reminds me of the time I mentioned to my hubby that I was thinking of buying a Sat Nav. His response was “What? Why do you want to do that? You already know your way to the shops, the hair dressers and school!”
Well, occasionally I do go to places other than Marks and Spencer, but, like I told my friend I don’t want a bus pass. She seemed incredulous at this, “You don’t want to travel for free?”
No I don’t, I want to continue to drive my car and park it in a car park even though I’m not actually very good at it. Having a bus pass would mean finally accepting that I’m old.
I refused to buy an old ladies’ car, I didn’t want little, I wanted big I bought myself a White 4X4.
The Jehovah’s Witness lady came by yesterday, I quite like her and enjoy having a chat and sometimes I even read the magazines she thrusts into my hands, there are some interesting articles that make me stop and think, food for thought etc. I’m not a Jehovah’s Witness and have no intention of becoming one. I’m C of E, the Church of England, but I don’t think I’m very good at it, not any more.
The Jehovah’s Witness lady always asks how I am and seems genuinely concerned for my welfare and has been since the hubby died. She used to stand on the doorstep and chat to the hubby and he never seemed to mind, which quite frankly was a little out of character for him. Now I’m the one who chats on the doorstep and I don’t mind either, although yesterday I put my foot in it.
Handing me the magazine, the very nice Jehovah’s Witness lady remarked how much my hair had grown since she last saw me. “Yes” I replied, “I’m trying very hard not to end up looking like one of these grey short-haired granny types.” It was then that I realised that her companion was indeed a grey haired granny type and sporting the short hairstyle I was keen to avoid!
I think I may have been labelled a vain woman, a lost cause which is probably true, after all I am very fortunate not have a single grey hair poking through the blonde!
The dictionary definition of Grey – ‘Hoary’ which actually defines as old and stale from overuse! Old, Older, Aged, Dreary, Depressing. I rest my case!
PS. Just to clarify, the hubby was in fact extremely sociable, but he never had much time for anyone pushing religion at him, other than his own of course.