70 Salubrious And Saucy

70   SALUBRIOUS   AND  SAUCY

It used to be said that we are allotted a lifespan of 3 score years and 10.   Last year I joined the ranks of people reaching  the big 7 0 ------ I passed my use by date!!!   And if you think that means retiring to the rocking chair wallowing in TV soaps, think again.   I’d much rather ride pillion on a Harley Davidson bike, with a huge, hairy Hells Angel up front, yahooing all the way down John Street!   Me, not him.

AMAZING  how things change with the years.   We used to tell our kids, “Don’t argue with your elders and betters.”   Now they tell us, “Don’t argue with those younger, and more knowledgeable than you.”   Where on earth did they get that from?   How do these “knowledgeable” youngsters think we got this far in life, knowing nothing, and managing to survive those “blissful” child rearing years, without ending up in the nuthouse?!

We aren’t supposed to know what a red blood cell is, let alone have any!  Unthinkable!

And all the weeping and gnashing of gums makes no difference.   They know best.   Such innocence!   If they only knew what goes on behind the mask of quiet, sedate seniority.

Well I’ve  made a few discoveries, and I’m enjoying a freedom I haven’t known in 50 years.    Passing my use by date means I can do practically anything I want ----and get away with it, because first of all, you are expected to do some daft things, and second, everybody underestimates you.

You can indulge in the most outrageous things;  I could go and throw my arms round the most gorgeous hunk in Rosewood ----- provided I could find one ----- and nobody would even blink.   A case of “Oh, they go like that with age, probably Alzheimers.”

But people think you lose your sense of fun, with advancing years.   Last year, my 70th birthday fell on a Sunday, and I told a woman at the church I was attending then, that on the day I’d turn up at church in a red mini skirt, black fishnet stockings (with suspenders), and wearing 3 inch heels.   Her face was a picture!   She really believed I was soft enough in the head to do it!! I’d forgotten there are people in this world who just don’t have a sense of humour.   If I’d said it to Pauline she’d have told me to get on with it.    I just might have done it too, but the legs will no longer bear scrutiny.

In my time, many people have underestimated me, and it used to get under my skin, until I realized what an asset it was.   And it gets better with age.   This torch is one I take with me on my early morning walks, in winter, and it gives a strong beam.   But it’s more than that.   It’s metal and it’s heavy, and I’d have no hesitation in using it as a weapon if  necessary.    But supposing I had a grudge to settle with someone, and decided to go straighten him out?    Bear in mind that Golden Oldies are supposed to be easily intimidated, non aggressive and frail.   Definitely non-violent and harmless.   A bit thick too.   A quick belt with the torch, and he’s gone to LA LA LAND minus nose and teeth.   He tells the cops I attacked him, I plead self defence.    Now who is going to believe this quiet senior citizen would be capable of such dreadful wickedness?    And anyway, would he really want his pals to know he’d been decked by a woman?   Especially one who’s supposed to be a bit past it?

Oh what privilege age gives us.   We can turn into crafty, conniving scallywags, and be above suspicion.

I know there’s a down side to getting older.   Train steps are higher, and have you noticed that they’re making the eyes in needles much smaller these days?

Then of course, there’s this forgetfulness.   You stand in front of the fridge, wondering if you meant to put something in, or take something out.   Maybe you find yourself at the foot of the stairs, unsure if you just came down, or should be going up.   

Unimportant.   Write notes to yourself.    “Put MILK in fridge, and CAT outside.”  Get that one wrong and you’re in deep 

fertilizer !!!

But there’s another plus here.   You can get out of doing almost anything ---- by simply forgetting !   Blame it on short term memory loss.   You’ll be believed.   Just don’t make eye contact at the time.   You can fall about laughing when you get behind closed doors.

Life DOESN’T begin at 40, it begins at 70.    When you pass your use by date you can really kick up your heels.   Dye your hair green ! Buy a G- string, (thong) instead of Bonds Bloomers !   The list is endless.   

I do draw the line at doing a strip in the middle of Rosewood.    You can all get your laughs somewhere else.

  

So.  Am I Supergran, or just a geriatric teenager with an attitude?   Whichever it is, lookout world here I come, and those who shake their heads in disgust can just get on with it .