Dear C,

Alas, as one who gave up yoga for health reasons, but not drinking or carbohydrates, I wish I could join in your well-earned gloating at being able to find yourself in positions of which the oldballandchain can only dream. Instead, I am working on a far less strenuous solution to the age-old problem of aging, and choosing to claim that I am far older than I really am. When combined with a rigorous program of hanging out at the local senior center, this should ensure that I can continue to make at least one group of people green with envy at the sight of my  buns of steel (wool). After all, if we can no longer make someone else feel worse about themselves, then really, what is the point of it all? The only fly in this ointment, unfortunately, dear C, is that I will have to discontinue being seen in public with you forthwith, in order for my ‘Be Seen with a Senior’ scheme to work. I hope, however, that we can continue our friendship via this correspondence from now on.

Faithfully,

P.

C,

Is it a bad sign when old people start to make sense? Case in point: on date night, this weekend, the oldballandchain and I calculated that if we palmed off the children on their grandparents early enough, we could catch dinner and a movie and still be home by nine p.m. And this actually sounded like a bonus! Then we picked a restaurant not on the basis of food or decor, but because it was the only one that didn’t have a line halfway down the street. Even the Early Bird Special has started to make sense: you beat the crowds; you can actually hear what the other person is saying, and best of all, the extra hour in bed compensates for all those sleep interuptions caused by having to get up to pee. What’s next do you think? Will Depends start to seem like the only answer to the problem outlined above? What if Willard Scott starts to look hot? Before you give up on me in despair, however, I’d like to point out that my husband and I did ultimately manage to throw caution to the wind by hanging out in Barnes & Nobel after dinner, thereby pushing bedtime back to a shocking TEN PM, but I’d better up the dose on my heart medication before doing that again. A girl can only cope with so much excitement.

Faithfully,

P.

P,

I’d like to say I have no idea what you’re talking about, but on Day 2 of the tenth anniversary trip, much time was spent gazing at books, reading excerpts aloud to one another, with some napping in between.  We did discover, however, a free "adult" movie on the hotel’s movie guide (we were just looking, after all) and found ourselves feeling rather adventurous.  It was,in the end, a Virgin Airlines ad done as a fake porn film.  Not bad advertising, to be sure, but how to explain to everyone why we’ll only fly Virgin Air henceforth? The movie so inspired us that we decided to partake of the real thing, that is, a real porn film, not the act itself.  I figure at $12.99 it was the best value of the whole trip.  Got to keep my cute clothes on and wasn’t forced to redo my face before dinner.  Considering a whole collection for the old boy.  As long as he promises to go to sleep by ten.

Faithfully,

C. 

C,

I was trying to think of  a good place to meet my friend, M  in DC the other day – one that would be more fun than a regular restaurant – but the only places I could come up with were the Chevy Chase Lounge, or the Zebra Lounge. (In DC, apparently, lounges have yet to go the same way as the water bed – speaks volumes, don’t you think?) Anyway, as you know, the CC lounge seems to be a pick-up joint for sad, middle-aged divorcees, while I have never dared venture into the second, for fear that people will think I’m just there to get my kid. (Note: I get the same feeling any time I am foolish enough to stray into Abercrombie & Fitch.) The only place I can think of that is really suitable for someone in denial (about so much, but principally, age) like myself is Jaleo, but just how many carafes of sangria can you drink, before the dark thoughts return?

Let me know if you think of anywhere suitable for a couple of MMMs (Married, Middle-aged Moms) to be seen in – preferably one with lots of flattering dark shadows.

Faithfully,

P.

P,

Particularly astute that you mentioned Jaleo as the last bastion of middle-aged women as you may recall our recent experience of actually being asked to "enjoy ourselves a little less" while sipping sangria with a third friend, a most delightful (and apparently loud) companion.  The joyless request was made by two "more middle-aged than we" types who seemed to think Jaleo was the setting for a quiet and intimate gathering (for those outside dc reading this, it most decidedly is not–if you could get your kids to eat the food, the din of the place makes it a great spot for less than perfectly groomed "inside" voices).  It reminded me of a couple of important truths: first, we aren’t as old as some and second, we can look forward to making others joyless in years to come.

Faithfully,

C.