Grandma Wore Hot Pants
I don’t know quite how the conversation started. It was five months ago. I don’t remember much these days unless I document (which I do, often). But I didn’t write this one down.
Easier to make fæces up.
Author's Note: Someone complained recently I used naughty language in my posts. So for this this baby, "pluck" and "fæces" shall be used.
By the title you’ve likely guessed the truth: I wear hot pants. But I’m not a grandma. But hot pants? You bet baby. I have a stash of Daisy Dukes that would burn your eyes like the finest acid.
And you’ll want the brain bleach when you’re done.
Not really. Easier to make fæces up. I’ll get the DDs when my children are old enough to be thoroughly embarrassed in public.
Grandma Wore Hot Pants: The Journey Begins
To do this post, I searched my stock photography site for “Grandma Wore Hot Pants” to no avail. Other search terms included “old woman prostitute”, “old woman hot pants”, “mature prostitute”, and “grandma-ho”.
Then I sucked it up and searched menopause. I’m really only perimenopausal, pluck you very much, but they weren’t into that word yet (or ever). I do protest!
In the meantime, feast your eyes on this dismal “return” for menopause (there were 393 images for it, so this is just a sample):
Doesn’t that make you want to do a Brodie off the top of the house? And seriously, what is she doing there? She’s half my age. I doth protest. I wish I looked that good when I was thirty.
Have you ever seen such a sad bunch of faces?
Boo hoo hoo I’m almost 40. Failure face. Boo hoo hoo I am ageing boo hoo hoo and now some 20-something shaved naked man holding a cowboy boot coyly over his doohickey won’t give me some hot monkey love because I’m a dried up husk of a woman (except when I have a bout of stress incontinence in the Wal-Mart). Wahhhhhhhh.
By the way, I asked Brother Google that one and it was a shocker. WARNING: very VERY NSFW. Please pass me some eye bleach. If you search "naked cowboy" expect to see a naked cowboy.
All these sad women. What do I have to look forward to, seriously? Misery? The urge to buy syringes to inject my peaches or other fertile fruits with elixirs of collagen and good times? Shriveled Fallopian tubes, sagging teats, osteoporosis, “dry vagina” (yeah, I said it) and reduced libido? Suddenly polyester mom jeans (which I’ll iron anyway, of course) will appear in my closet? I’ll smell like face powder, keep cheese in the freezer, and forget to take my teeth out before a nap?
I’m wearing hot pants, baby. I will not go gentle into that good night.
I Turn to Brother Google for Comfort
Much better. Whom do I see when I searched for “old women in hot pants“? Lynda Carter and Joan Rivers (R.I.P)! Kick-ass women are what I want to see when I search for old women in hot pants. I want people I can admire (you may think I’m being sarcastic but I’m not).
So what does this say about ME? That I have internalized and thus absorbed and agreed to society’s concept of menopause as desexualizing me, thus making me undesirable and as no longer an object of desire, worthless? In other words: that my ontology and self-esteem are so precarious that I need to rely on being sexualized and sexually attractive in order to be happy and actualized?
Yeah, pretty much.
I don’t want wrinkles, sagging neck lines (not talking about clothing either, cast your eyes here), an apple-shaped torso and thicker blood, higher risk of heart disease (did you see my HSF canvassing badge by the way, at the top of the page, over to the right?). Heart disease is the leading cause of death for women). The Heart & Stroke Foundation just haven’t marketed as well as some other disease foundations, that’s all.
Who wants those fæces, I ask, rhetorically? No one.
But consider the alternative. Death totally sucks.
I’m not going gentle into the good night. Hot flashes may sucketh, I’m not pleased about my skin changes. But hey, I’m alive and I have a lot to be grateful for and I sincerely hope that I will write my memoirs (easier to make fæces up, I won’t remember where I put my Post-Its in another year or two) and my memoirs shall be called:
Grandma Wore Hot Pants: Coming Kinda Soon
Don’t miss out. I’ve already got one pre-order!
You know I wouldn’t leave you hanging: here’s what my stock photography site had for andropause (only 19 results here.. hmmmm):
And that’s kinda it. See all those sad boo hoo hoo faces? No? Me neither. Guess that’s another blog for another day.
This post was written for "IsThisCleverEnough" and her Mum (Linda) who unbeknownst to her, is the model for one of the characters in my never-to-be-completed novel (and yup, I named the character Lynda Carter). Both women totally kick ass. Miss you gals. xox
At a loss what to get people for Christmas? How about donating to the Heart & Stroke Foundation in their name?