Tricia is an empty nester fifty something who still wants love, passion and adventure…..
Charlie’s Angels, Ford Escorts and the wooly cardigan
I thought by now I would have had my life all sorted? But not so. Quite the opposite. I’m more confused than ever. I wonder to myself if this confusion is because I’m now well and truely into my fifties; I’m an inbetweener because I’m ‘not that old but ‘not that young’ either. I’ve thought about asking my more mature friends, ‘Hey, what was it like for you in your fifties, were you confused? I’ve not yet had enough nerve to ask as I think I know the reply will be something along the lines of, ‘Ya cheeky cow’ or I would get a hard slap.
Last time I felt this confused (excluding being drunk or lost) about my age was when I was about aged sixteen. I had big decisions to make on a daily basis, these all caused me confusion as I moved from being a girl to being a woman. Which of Charlie’s Angels should I have my hair cut like? Sabrina or Kate? Which guy should I date? The one with the Ford Capri or the one with the Ford Escort. Should I buy my clothes from, Chelsea Girl or Top Shop. Could I wear a boob tube when I did’nt actually have any boobs.
I’m confused because I don’t know how I should behave age appropriately. Recently, I was drinking in an apri-ski bar and after a few cheeky alcoholic drinks, there I was, having a dance off on the tables with three German men, giving it what for to some Euro trash techno techno chart hit, of which a word I didn’t understand. Later, I found myself enticing a very handsome Swiss guy into my arms.. not what your thinking but to an arm wrestling competition. (I know! I need to work on my flirting) I blamed my age inappropriate behaviour on the Jagermaster rather than my reality of still wanting to party and go clubbing.
On the next breath I find myself applying for a flat share and have billed myself as a sensible mature lad. I’m trying to conjure up re-assuring images to my potential house buddy of a well-behaved middle aged woman who can be trusted to not have wild parties, who does not enjoy snogging random men or would ever come home drunk. I want to give the image that I am the lady who irons my tea towels, is in bed for ten and a domestic goddess.
I also don’t know how I should dress. Ok, I accept the skimpy tight-fitting dress days are over, I definitely have one or two bulges not appropriate for a stick insect dress. My six-inch killer heels still get an occassional outing when I’m at some posh doo. However, give me an hour and you will see them kicked off laying under the table. What I find most annoying about being in my fifties is when I try-on a great looking outfit but it does not match my face’s age. I have to ask myself if I look like mutton dressed as lamb? Then I remind myself, I’m not mutton but I’m not a lamb either? What’s in the middle? A cuddly, wooly cardigan? Grrr..I still want to look sexy but this is a hard act to pull off and would require a team from one of those make over programmes to make me look both sexy and ten years younger. I’ll repeat that, a whole team! I remind myself ‘do not try this at home’ liposuction or teeth whitening. I instead, resort to some comfy classics of leggings and a baggy top with a few glistening jewels to give me a bit sparkle.
And this confusion continues even down to what colour lipstick to apply. I know what colour I would love to wear..it’s red. In my younger years I used to have three shades of red lipstick, day, night and come to bed, now I wear some bland pale o-shade that lifts and plumps up my lips and makes them look as appealing as a sea trout’s pout.
I love red lipstick,it’s just that the colour red no longer loves me and I’m not ready for fifty shades of beige. I am a confused in-betweener!
Tricia is an empty nester fifty something who still wants love, passion and adventure.
You can read more of her funny stories in My Eggs Are Scrambled by TL. Ralston Amazon books.