In my head, and when The Man looks at me we see this:
Apparently when others look at me they see this:
Just a little bit of a disconnect right?
I am not traditionally beautiful, but there is a way about me that many find beauty in it.
I’ve talked about always being larger. I’ve talked about not relaxing or coloring my hair any longer.
I’ve spoken about being 40 and being the most authentic person I can be, without addition.
I’ve explained that once upon a time I would not leave the house without lipstick, eyeshadow, and a fresh manicure.
Today I want to talk about fuck what you’ve heard I am not ready to hit the early bird dinner and wear espadrilles and socks.
The boy and I were out earlier this evening handling some things and doing a little mom and son bond. We stayed out later than I planned so I went to Boston Market to pick up dinner. While at the store a funny thing happened while I was minding my own business. The cashier gave me a senior discount.
When she told me the price of the meal I looked at her quizzically. She explained that she’d given me the senior discount. I smiled and said thank you and left the store.
My very next stop was to the car, to the cell phone, to my BFF. I have a color emergency I explained.
Mind you, she knows that I have not colored my hair since March? April? When ever it was that I shaved my head.
She’s done my hair for the better part of 15 years so she knows how much grey I have. Shit apparently I am the only person who didn’t know how much gray I had, if they are gonna be tossing out senior discounts at me.
I wasn’t offended, I think I was just shocked.
Remember I look like this:
I do not look like this:
I’ve had to learn over the years that my brand of sexy is not what society teaches is sexy. I’ve had to learn to love my stubby fingers and as one person called them Flintstone toes. I’ve had to accept that there is nothing wrong with my not flat tummy, and that those thighs that wiggle and jiggle as I walk fit snugly around a person’s ears, and those are the happiest ears on the planet in that moment.
Once I learned to accept who I was, I stopped trying to conform to what society told me was beautiful and instead I simply was beautiful.
I will not be old though.
Vanity? man …. I guess
I am simply not willing to be told I am an old fart.
Well, I mean in the form of senior discounts.
Unless it is at United Artists, those fucking tickets cost a fortune.
Society can tell me that I am not attractive because I am fat and I can prove them wrong. If I were in the business of proving that is…. I don’t have to prove it to the one who counts.
I don’t have to prove that I am not old though. Not really, except I ain’t there yet… the place where I am okay with people thinking I am a senior citizen.
Although if I think about it apparently I haven’t been seeing the signs.
When the young men let me get on the bus first or give me their seat I assumed that it was because there were still gentlemen in the world. It didn’t occur to me that they simply didn’t want to go to hell because they were not nice to an old woman.
I get funny looks when I am driving and blasting Public Enemy. I figured that people were just fearing the Black Power, not that they pitied the old woman who had to turn the sound all the way up because she couldn’t hear.
Then there was that one time someone asked if Clyde was my grandson.
India Arie said she’s not her hair….I am not either and I am going to prove it by coloring it.
I don’t know what it will be other than it won’t be Black.
Or that it won’t be THIS gray any more.
Now please excuse me. I have to go look into the bottom of my purse for a peppermint.