I recently celebrated my @#$%&*!!th birthday. (I could tell you the exact age but I’d have to kill you.). As I went through old photos for the obligatory Instagram birthday post – which I highly recommend you check out by the way as it contains some ‘Prabs through the ages’ gems – I got to thinking about the funny side of middle age. (By ‘funny’ I clearly mean ‘pain in the arse’ but let’s not bother with semantics right now.) Some (in my opinion funny) undeniable truths about middle age in fact dawned on me… Such as: I’ve reached that stage in life where I can pull a muscle just brushing my teeth. And where I find almost e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g and e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e so loud that I run about manically turning down anything with a volume button (and praying they’ll invent a remote control with a mute function for humans in my lifetime).
Of course there are some advantages to The Middle Stage which I wrote about when I turned you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me years old a while back. For example, unlike twenty-something Prabs, I can usually laugh at myself (as you may know if you’ve been following me for a while and remember reading this one). I don’t have the same obsession with body image I had in my twenties and am not hung up over a lot of the things I thought were important back then.
Anyway, the lady doth waffle too much. Let’s get down to business. To mark the prestigious occasion of me reaching that point in life where I’ve ‘choose’ an age to stick to (FYI 36 in my head but reluctantly 41 out loud if I’m actually asked…don’t laugh…ok you’re allowed a bit), I came up with some observations on this middle age malarkey.
These 11 funny and undeniable truths about middle age (well I suppose confessions) really are just lighthearted musings and not meant to be taken too seriously. That said…each and every one of these genuinely applies to me!
How to tell if you’re old:
Fall over.
If everyone wets themselves laughing, you’re young.
If everyone panics, you’re old.
I found this out the hard way last Summer. My husband and I were at a restaurant. It was that point in the evening that many will recognise: starters and mains had been consumed, I was toying with the idea of dessert, it was a typical hot balmy Malta summer’s night and we all moved to an outside table for a more relaxed environment and some air. At which point, I er…realised that the gin and tonic (the size of my head) plus several glasses of red I’d had probably weren’t the best idea. Ok, I’m lying: I had NO clue they weren’t the best idea because I was too tipsy to realise. It only became clear I wasn’t totally in possession of all my faculties when I started goofing around with one of our dinner companions, stood up to tell him joke/dance and er…fell backwards OFF the verandah and crashed onto the lower terrace. In front of all the other restaurant clientèle. One of my classier moments. Cue: about five people (in my humiliation, it felt like fifteen) rushing over to help me up. Mortifying.
As the years pass, I’m calmer, more understanding of others and accepting in general, thanks to the wisdom that age brings. It’s beautiful.
I’m also less able to tolerate people’s bullshit.
No explanation needed really… Although I have to say I’ve no idea how one can be both of these things.
Please be informed I’ve officially entered that phase of life where I’ve ‘chosen’ an age that I’m sticking to. Your understanding at this sensitive time would be appreciated.
If ever there was a lesson in ‘Never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes’, this is one of them. When I was a youngun, I could never understand it when I heard ‘older’ women joking about picking an age and sticking to it. I’ve now walked way more than a mile in their shoes and I totally get it. No judgements here.
I don’t get excited over handbags and accessories anymore. Unless we’re talking hiking gear and picnic hampers designed like a backpack of course. Then I’m all “Pinch me, am I dreaming? This better be real!”
I kid you not! Yes I’m clearly living in a cave and need to get out more…preferably with a picnic backpack, ha ha. Seriously, for anyone equally as sad in love with the great outdoors as me, you might want to check out this understated grey Hap Tim luxury 4 Person Picnic Backpack Hamper or this tan Apollo Walker Picnic Backpack or smaller Andes Picnic Set Rucksack Cool Bag for two people, which even has a chopping board! See? Middle Age!!
Universal truth about middle age:
If you’re anywhere near a bathroom, you think “I’d better go while I’m here” (even if you just went 10 minutes ago).
I could actually weep over how accurate this is. Let that be all I say on the matter however. You don’t need details.
I used to be into chic clothes, fancy jewellery and classy boutiques. I’ve just watched the video of a deluxe food processor. Am literally wiping the drool off my face.
Absolutely Prabulous
Not. Even. Joking. Please let me introduce you to the newest addition to our family, the Sage Kitchen Wizz Peel & Dice. Tadaaaa. (Not paid to promote this by the way. Just crazy excited about it!). Seriously, if ANYONE is still in doubt that I’m displaying worrying middle aged tendencies, I’ll be astonished!
Anyone else remember queuing on the street for hours to get into the record store to buy their fave band’s latest album? (Anyone else relieved that’s no longer a thing because they’d only queue if the pavement’s been totally resurfaced and they’re wearing solid shoes with a firm grip?)
Just me then?
In my 20’s and 30’s, I was all about cool cities, buzzing bars, hip hotels and renowned restaurants. Now? Show me a hill far away from other humans and I’ll love you forever.
Despite walking to school and later university nearly every day of my academic life and happily spending hours exploring cities on foot, I would have been bored rigid if someone had suggested an actual hike in – shock horror – countryside and (even worse) with hardly anyone else in sight. I absolutely lived for the buzz of city life and even though I’ve always been able to occupy myself, preferred the company of others much more. Forest/country walks were only a consideration if I knew there was a fireside drink, quaint teashop or cool cafe at the end of it; and the more people the merrier.
Now stick me on a hill with a flask of tea, myself (alright the kids can come) and scenic views- and I’m deliriously content. Call me antisocial. Or just call me middle aged!
I’ve reached the point where I put my back out just standing still.
Without doubt one of the most frustrating demoralising aspects of ageing. Some days, I swear my left eyelashes are the only part of me that don’t ache. (I’ve probably gone and jinxed my left eyelashes now haven’t I?)
A seasoned woman is spicy. She has been marinated in life experiences. Like a complex wine, she can be alternately sweet, tart, sparkling, mellow. She is both maternal and playful. Assured, alluring, and resourceful. She is less likely to have an agenda than a young woman—no biological clock tick-tocking beside her lover’s bed, no campaign to lead him to the altar, no rescue fantasies. The seasoned woman knows who she is. She could be any one of us, as long as she is committed to living fully and passionately in the second half of her life, despite failures and false starts
Gail Sheehy
Beautifully put. Frankly, what more would I add to this?
Last… but not least…
I’M at that Stage where…
I turn the lights on to hear someone properly.
I’ve started blaming age for every illness and pain.
(This includes paper cuts.)
Everyone. Sounds. Loud.
I’ve seen each fashion trend come round 3 times.
I’m too old for clubs. Too young for Bridge mornings.
I called someone a lovely ‘boy’ the other day. (He was 32.)
Tis all true, dear reader, tis very true…
