If it wasn’t for my quick wit and enviable sarcasm, if not for my About Me page and my nauseatingly endless life-without-direction posts, if I didn’t make so many pop culture references, I’m sure within my heart of hearts that you would think I was a grandma.
I complain. Sure I do it occasionally tongue-in-cheek, to be facetious or funny, or just to mock an unfortunate situation, but I do complain. Sometimes a lot. You know who also complain a lot? People over 75.
My ideal bedtime is 7:30.
If I go out, which in itself is a rarity, I like to be leaving the bars by the time everyone else is arriving.
I have no interest in the hoochies that run around in too-tight, too-short skirts waving their business about, crying in the corner because the guy they met five minutes ago doesn’t love them. I don’t touch drama with a 10-foot pole.
I offer sage advice.
I need to nap immediately after running a single errand or else I can’t make it through the day.
Putting on pants and/or a bra while I’m at home (lezbihonest, even while I’m out sometimes, too) is too much work.
I talk to my puppy like he’s my own child and dress him up in my t-shirts sometimes.
If you weren’t shown any pictures and looked strictly at my writing, un-linked, unfiltered, you would have to think I was a grandma. A highly grammatically correct, witty-beyond-belief, (super hip) grandma, but a grandma just the same.
This weekend I went down to Charlottesville to visit some friends from high school. It was a jam-packed few days from the moment I arrived. I had a separate meeting on Friday afternoon, saw a different friend for dinner that night and coffee shop reading the next day, met up with the group on Saturday afternoon for lunch, a vineyard visit, and then party, bars, late night food, and Bodo’s the next morning. Our mini reunion was so much fun (it always is), but this busy weekend will last me until New Year’s, I’m sure. It’s not that I don’t enjoy all of our excursions, but the grandma in me can’t wait to end the night (preferably early) in bed surrounded by her besties discussing everyone else’s gossip. It’ll be the same thing in 60 years when we’re all tucking each other in at the nursing home.