This past week has me feeling older than a rock.
The background is this: I made the most incredible cake ever. No really. It was called “Sticky chocolate pudding cake with marshmallows”. It came from the November 2010 edition of this magazine and when I saw it, I had to make it – it was like a giant chocolate hot fudge sundae cake with melted marshmallows on top. Absolutely not good for you. Also (according to the recipe) it’s a favorite in Australia, in which case I shake my fists at my beloved Antipodeans and ask why – WHY did you not tell us about this fabulous cake if so? It was brilliant. And I topped it off with some sparklers as I know the twins absolutely adore fireworks.
Which they do.
Unless they’re on a cake.
In which case it’s much screaming of “My cake on fire!”, copious cuddles, apologies, kisses, smoothing of foreheads from the resultant nightmares, the promise that Mummy will pay for up to 6 sessions of therapy to get past this one and the solemn vow that while they love fireworks, there will be no sparklers in this house again.
So this picture was taken and I looked at it and first thought: “Oh my poor boy, look at his face, my guilt is immense.”
Followed by: “No more sparklers on cakes.”
Then: “What is that weird stain on my jeans?”
Followed up by: “Oh my god, look at all the lines on my face! You could file business cards in those things!”
It’s official. I’m old.
Of course, the wrist brace in the photo further highlights how old I am. It’s been replaced by a larger, more serious looking brace that I am in until I see my consultant, which isn’t for another two weeks. I have an MRI on Friday and based on brilliant advice from Jen (hi Jen!) I just received my copy of this book. I’m old, or at least my joints are.
People can’t let go of the wrist brace, either. I was at a work meeting today and it’s like an eye magnet. “Oh my God, what happened?!” they exclaim, as though I’ve grown another head or wheeled in my dialysis machine.
“It comes from hitting project managers who don’t deliver,” I try to breeze.
“Ha ha!” I get back. “No really, what happened?”
Instead of “I have a joint syndrome that you have never heard of and never will and if I tell you about you won’t get, so let’s keep it at ‘I pushed an old lady out of the way of a speeding car’, shall we?” I came up with: “I have arthritis.”
It’s easier. Simple. To the point.
Most of the time.
Today I got from one particularly dim bulb: “Seriously? Isn’t that for old people?”
I nodded. “Yes, well, I am 52.”
“Wow!” they breathed. “You look really good for your age! I only put you at about 45 or 46!”
Fuck.
It’s not an isolated episode this week, I’m afraid. I was talking to a guy I work with about families. He has a 10 year old and an 8 year old. He asked me if I had kids, and I branched out into territory that I don’t like going into. I decided to come clean.
“I do have kids, I have twins.”
“Wow, twins! How old are they?”
“They just turned three.”
“Three? Blimey, you’re an older mum aren’t you?”
“Older mum? I had them when I was 33!” I shout indignantly.
“Yeah, 33 is old to have kids,” he replied defensively.
“’33 is old to have kids’? Where the fuck are you from, the Ozarks?”
It culminated in a high during a visit to my lovely hairdresser Matt. I have a stylist that I love visiting, we always gossip and make fun of things and he watches the same TV programmes I do. I always tip him, which Alastair thinks is an anathema, but I tip both him and the shampooist Jess.
I was getting my hair washed this time by the shampooist when Matt came and sat in the empty shampooing chair next to me.
“So Shannon,” he drawls, “I’m trying to convince Jess to match her knickers and her bra.”
“Why?” she puffed. “My boyfriend don’t care.”
Good grammar always scores high with me.
“But he should care!” Matt exclaims with histrionics. “Even more, you should care! Shannon, your view?”
“I agree,” I say, wiping my wet forehead. “I didn’t used to care about matching, but I do now.” Which is true, I do like matching now. Not only do I feel like I’m taking care of myself, but being this accident-prone (and having had a seriously hot anesthesiologist in the past) I think it’s entirely likely the A&E will someday be treated to my underthings.
“You didn’t match the sets when you was younger?” Jess the Brain of Britain asks.
“No, but I do now,” I reply.
“I don’t want to care, I just want to be comfortable,” Jess pouts.
“Oh I wear comfortable lingerie, I just do like to match,” I reply.
“See?” Matt crows. “You should match.”
“Yeah, well, when I’m old like she is and have nothing else to do, then I’ll care about matching.”
Matt has a sharp intake of breath. Jess washes my hair vigorously, unaware that the whoosing sound she just heard is the sound of her tip flying away. When it’s time to pay and tip, Jess suddenly arrives. Matt (always devious to a fault), grins slyly as he looks at the money I left on the counter.
“Thanks for the tip, darlin’,” he replies.
I look at Jess. “Matching knickers aren’t the end of the world. But with age, dearest, comes discretion. Look forward to that part, yes?”
And I leave with both the feeling of a tiny victory and the hope that she won’t be there when I return as I’m not sure I can stand the scrutiny or, potentially, the acid she may wash my hair with.
-S.
OH MY GOD!
Do you work and associate with ANYONE who isn’t completely fucking BLIND?!
YOU DO NOT LOOK OLD! You do not look THIRTY five, let alone FORTY five!
Fer the love O’God!
*cough*
*realises she has capitalised too much for Shannon’s comfort*
And… That photo made my heart break a bit. Actually, quite a lot!
Those aren’t old lines in your face, those are eyebrows up lines. You don’t look a bit old.
First: I would love, love, love, LOVE a picture and a recipe for that cake!
Second: What the *beep*?! You do NOT look old! And I’m so glad you didn’t tip Jess!
You look concerned in that pic, not old. You’re not old. And don’t make any more cracks about your age to others, because everyone does not have discretion or good sense!
Case in point: The other day I was ringing up a customer (an older gentleman) and I said something about not having seen that low of a price “in many moons.” Then he said, “Pfftt.. many moons, you don’t look older than thirty-five!” This pleased me immensely as I just turned 40 last month. Unfortunately my 70-something year old co-worker picked that time to scoff triumphantly, “Humph! You’re gonna have a add a few more years to that estimate!” After dude buddy left, I said, “That wasn’t very nice of you, Doris.” To which she replied, “Well, I’ve never seen any reason to lie about *my* age.” Sigh..
You don’t look old, at all. You look happy! And you have shiny hair, and slim, long legs….boo..I look old and short and fat! I once moaned about my thining hair to my hairwasher about a year after I’d had my second child…”If that’s what having kids does to your hair I’m not having any” she said. I never bothered going back there. My hair isn’t any thicker now.
(Oh and I am the @hull Gill…but I left my job last week)
I agree with Jen – eyebrows up lines are far different from wrinkles. The only people who don’t have those lines have been Botoxed within an inch of their lives!
What is wrong with people and their ideas of when life milestones should happen? My husband’s BIL (the stupid one, as opposed to the scumbag, the doctor, and the one we like) told me that everyone should have their children before they’re 28, or else they’d be too old to play with them. First, when he told me this, I was pregnant with my first (and only) child…at age 37. Second, the dumbass had his first child last year…at age 29. Guess you know why I call him the stupid one.
How funny (um, funny strange) that they were traumatised by the sparklers – I had then on my birthday cakes frequently since my birthday is July 5. I never thought anything of it (other than I couldn’t blow out my candles because they were SPARKLERS!).
I don’t have any idea how old you look, but I don’t think I would guess anywhere above your actual age. I’m guessing they’re not looking at you as much as what you represent. And the shampoo girl – well, she just sounds young and foolish.
Ok, so I as an antique mom when I had my twins just short of 39?
See, this is why I can’t be a mother. I can’t understand the “cake on fire” thing. I’d probably have told the kid to get the fuck over it. In as many words. Which means Nick will be saying much more than “asshole!” once he hangs out with Auntie Pants for a while. (I figure I should warn you.) Also, he’ll come back full of sugar and with a kitten and a bag of noisy toys.
Maybe you need to see photos of you through our computer screens – from here you are even more beautiful than you were the wedding photo taken in Sweden. Shampoo girl’s intellect is demonstrated by her clear grasp of grammar!
When you are 52, you’ll look back and go “what was I thinking?” I was gorgeous! And when you are 72, and look back at 52, same thing. You are one of those people that will be gorgeous at any age. And poor Nick, (although I probably would have laughed too), and OMG the cautionary tale to the shampooist, you kill me! You rock!
Okay…I know you did not compose this post fishing for compliments, but a) you do not look old, b) I am older than you so shut up (I say that lovingly) c) those lines on your forehead is what happens when you express and the muscles move your flesh up your skull. Not wrinkles. Moving skin. Which is good. If you got some Botox, you’d have an immobile forehead like about 30% of Hollywood and I would totally give you a hard time about that! So, quit picking on yourself…you’re a hot mamma!
Right there with you! Know how you feel. The cake thing sounds just like something I would do and have my kids react the same way. gotta go someone is screaming..
Hi! Glad you got the book. I wonder if you are accident prone due to OI? It all starts falling into place.
I imagine a challenging work assignment on top of all this, and so glad it was the road not taken.
Hang in there and all the best, JB
Poor Lemonheads. It is always a mystery at what will scare your kids, and is usually the thing you least expect.
Know what’s worse? People calling you old and fat. A few years back on my 33rd birthday, my aunts says to me “you’re only 33? I thought you turned 33 about 10 years ago.” Seriously. When we were in Florida, some guy at a cafe told me I was very pretty, and could easily be on of those “big lady” models.
I do not understand what the hell is wrong with some people. Honestly. No, you do NOT look old. Adam’s grandma, who is 94, looks old. Kudos to how you handled Jess-while we’re certainly not old, we have gained a certain perspective, yes?
Evidently, since you love good grammar, I decided to pepper my comment with all sorts of errors.
Actually, my first thought on seeing that photo (after the standard ‘poor baby!’) was – we’ve got the same elbows. And then I wondered at the face you were pulling. You certainly don’t look old in any photos I’ve seen!
People who provide services to the public should not open mouth and insert foot. I’m surprised you tip in England because we were on a bus tour once in California and the British group refused to tip as they stated it was “A Colonial Abomination.” You do not look old and don’t let anyone tell you differently!
I’m going to be avoiding the mirror all day thanks to your post (pout). You definitely do not even look your age (as in, you look a lot younger). Also – kudos to you for whooshing away her tip! Ha hah ha. If that were me I would have probably started composing the best possible one liner the minute the words were out of her mouth – and then tried to find the opportune time to deliver it. I can never come up with good stuff on a whim!
I had to go back and look for the brace when I got to the para where you mentioned it because I hadn’t seen past the upset toddler. I think if you end up with an industrial Borg-brace people will notice it less because they won’t want to.
Puhlease. You actually have a baby face. Have you not seen some of the people from high school and college who just look like life has been hard on them? You look very young. Plus you’re the exact same age as me, so stop saying you’re old. It makes me feel bad! ; )
Well, you’re not old, let me just say. I’ve got years on you, and I’m not old, so that’s how I know. :)
The babies’ third birthday made me realize how long I’ve been a reader – since at least a year before their birth! So, thanks for keeping at it for all these years!
Best,
Suze
The picture? Even my 15 year old daughter has lines like that when she does her forehead as you did. You must really dress mature to get those comments, because you don’t look a day over 29 in your pictures.
That being said, eventually we all age (even Joan Rivers) despite our best efforts to slow the process. If we were as smart as our predecessors, we’d consider wisdom and getting older as desirable and respect-worthy instead of contemptible and mock-worthy.
To echo everybody elses sentiments… you do NOT look old!
And I only clocked the brace as I currently have an identical one on my left wrist, which may or may not need to be replaced with the heavy duty splint again if it doesn’t get any better. I can’t say I feel your pain, but I certainly empathise with all the comments in provokes. If you think of any interesting reasons behind it please throw them my way!
You do NOT look old! Seriously! You look magnificent. But really, that boy’s face? All I want to do is smooch on him and tell him that the fire makes the insides melty & good ;)
As for the shampooist? Bazinga! Love it! and you are seriously not looking old. I say looking because knowing your age? I know that you are not old, as that would make me old, and I’m not old! ;)
you look great, poor baby thinking his cake was on fire :-) The cake sounds delish, can you post recipe?
you do not look old! please! annoying shampoo girl, no manners these youngsters..!! Really I can’t believe some people. (ps I am your age too and agree with above poster, no way in heck am I old! ha ha..)
Okay. I’m way too old to commiserate with somebody who’s still in her 30′s. Let alone EARLY 30′s. I think you was right about the Jess, The Mouth (grammar applied in her honor) – she might as well learn right now. But my favorite part of this post was your jumping from thought to thought in the first part of this post. That has nothing to do with age – it has everything to do with being a chick. And we all do it. I just loved it! (and I’ll watch over Nick’s welfare and future well-adjusted-ness if he ever gets close to Auntie Pants)
Must start looking for some cool LED twinkling lights to put on cakes from now on. Total light show for the awesome twosome. No more burning how the cake therapy sessions in their future.
Hairdresser and co-worker? Assholes. May the aging fairy smite them with loads of gray hairs and frown lines. Crows feet make me think of smiling people – so they were happy a lot to get them.
Mysterious jean stains? Every single day when I get undressed I take note and spray Shout on dozens of mysterious stains on my clothes. These children seem to think I am their napkin.
I’m sorry, but the cake on fire thing is very very funny. Kids make me laugh, the things that go through their heads!!!
As for old, nope, you don’t. I agree with the folks up top who labeled them ‘eyebrows up lines’. Some of us have more of them then others and I personally think they are rather expressive. I got them from my Dad, as did my sister, and my grandma used to say to my Dad, ‘Quit raising your eyebrows like that. You’ll be able to screw on your hat!” And I thought it a riot, so now whenever I see a picture of me with ‘eyebrows up lines’, I think of someone screwing a derby onto my head.
You don’t look old at all. You look trim and in your early 30s.
I’ve been coordinating my undergarments, shirts, and socks since I was sixteen, so Jess can take my color-coordinated Vickies and…wait, nope, that euphemism doesn’t work in this case. Oh, well. I still don’t think you look/seem old.
I suppose if I thought my cake was in imminent danger, I’d be upset, so I can empathize with the twins on that one. I mean, it depends a lot on the frosting, but I can see the awesomeness of sparklers being outweighed by the thought that my precious cake may not survive.
Maybe I look mean (rather than old) as neither my hairdresser or the shampoo boy turn up at the counter for tips…
Uh, Mama Pants?? Where the hell do you think Auntie Pants LEARNED all those words?!
Shampoo girls are MASSIVELY stupid (it must go with the territory). (Okay, I apologize preemptively to all the smart shampoo girls who are out there reading this — I’m not talking about you.) I once went to my salon with a girlfriend who brought her 9 month old along. Said girlfriend was approximately 5 years younger than I was. I was 33ish at the time. Stupid shampoo girl asked me if friend’s baby was my freaking GRANDCHILD. To this day, I consider it a miracle that I did not stand up and strangle her right there and then.
So, babe, I feel your pain. But you still look great (and not in the “great for your age” way!)…