Matriarch in the Making

(My guest blog is from funny lady and sassy cartoonist Amy Sherman, creator of Kranky Kitty (www.krankykitty.biz). We met last year at the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop and performed for the stand-up comedy night program. She makes me laugh.)

Sometimes a promotion is well-l­earned and welcomed. But sometimes the promotion comes without perks, only pity. Some promotions are best avoided as long as physically possible.

When a parent crosses the bridge to whatever-­the-­hell is over there, the natural conclusion is the offspring are next in line. Makes total sense. But when my number is the “next up” by this natural order of things, it is a tad unsettling. Disturbing, even. I’m not into natural. I dye my hair. I bleach my teeth. I Photoshop every picture I take before posting to any public venue. So the “natural” order of things can stuff it!

I feel lucky enough to have made it past age fifty, closing in on sixty. I don’t feel my age. Nobody does, with any luck. My mental age is about 35-­40 years younger. And I like it that way. Maturity can mean many things. I choose to remain immature as long as society will allow, before having me certified and caged.

So when the previous generation related by blood, or marriage, moves on to the next plane, I don’t need anyone reminding me of my place in line. Feel free to cut in front. Anytime. Reminders can be very subtle, or hit you over the head like a death scythe. When your kids stop giving you shit and start treating you with a tender respect, I say “No!” Stop being nice. You’re scaring me. And I don’t scare easily. Until now.

When I forget something inane, I don’t need to see the secretive glances and eye connections implying, “It’s starting….” or “She’s slipping.” Sometimes, people simply forget shit. It isn’t a call to arms for an Alzheimer’s intervention. I haven’t had a good brain for recollecting facts or movie plots since high school. Unless it was a personal attack or affront. I remember almost every mean thing that was ever said or done to me. So I WILL remember these “concerned” looks and nods as my loved ones over­analyze every trip I make.

Just because my bowel movements are front and center in the planning, or execution of my daily routine, doesn’t mean I am sliding towards home, people. And when I say things like, “this world is going to hell in a hand basket,” don’t assume I’m a FOX News fan. Age does offer some perspective. Some things were better in the past, but I never want to live in it.

I am well aware of my place in line and I don’t need any of you young whippersnappers eyeballing me like you know it. You’d best hope I hang in there as long as possible, because if there is one thing I am sure of, you will be next. So show a little respect and don’t add to the notion that each generation must pass on in due order. The only thing I plan to pass on is another colonoscopy. What’s the point? I’m almost dead anyway.

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