A little neighbor girl came knocking at our door last night; seems news of wee Angus has spread among the kids. I recognized this particular specimen, though I don’t know her name. I don’t know any of their names. I’m not really the doting granny type, who always has an open door and a cookie for any cherub who happens by.

“Can I have the kitty you found?”

I didn’t simply hand Angus over to her, but bought time by saying that I would have to speak to her parents first. He is still on formula and does still eat 6 times a day. I doubt her mother would want to deal with that.

“We’re moving”.

“Really? Where are you going?”

“To Orlando. My Mom found herself someone to marry”.

Yay, Mom.
Meanwhile the girl keeps holding Angus out away from her body because his sharp little claws and teeth have been busy…

“I don’t like it when he does that”.

“He’s a kitten, it’s what they do. He doesn’t have the social interaction of his litter mates to learn from anymore. We have to teach him what is and is not acceptable.”

[blank stare]

It was at this point, between unlatching teeth from my jaw and claws from my right breasticle, I noticed the chit peering at me intently.

“Do you wear make up?”

“No, why?”

“Well, when some people wear make up it causes their skin to sag.”

“No, my skin sags because I’m old. Say, did you know that PetsMart has three cages full of kittens, nice ones that don’t bite and scratch, up for adoption?? You should tell your Mom to take you up there… I’ve got to go in now.”

“Bye, Angus! I’ll be back tomorrow to see you!”

Yeah, but I won’t open the door.

It’s not like I don’t know how old I am, but I didn’t know I was that old. This upcoming 50th birthday milestone is causing a lot of emotional moaning and itsy bitsy breakdowns in the dairy aisle at Publix. Dairy? I’ve no idea. It’s probably something Freudian.

It’s a shock. Inside, I still feel like me. Outside, I look like an old woman. Inside, I still have options and things to see and do… Outside, I look past it.

I blame the Bowflex ad starring the 50 year old grandmother -who, by the way, looked just fine before she started working out- with the ‘Bowflex Body’ and face by Botox. I was lured in by this bit of propaganda and all the other Hollywood plastic. Ugh.

EDIT 7.5.07: Okay, I found granny on the net… maybe her face isn’t botoxed; I apologize, but I still think I was a victim of advertising…

Usually, this stuff doesn’t bother me… well, when I turned 29 I had half my head shaved. But 50. Why do I still feel like I’m 29? Will I ever start feeling like my age?

I hope not.