I made a reservation on Southwest Air today. I hate flying! No…it’s not the flight. I enjoy the plane ride and I really like the bustle of the airport. I’m always amazed that I don’t know a single person. And while I’m at it, how in the world are there so many different faces? Seriously, Mr. Potato Head never had so many options.
The part that really annoys me is putting in my date of birth. I don’t mind the month, June, or the day, 30. It’s when I have to scroll down the length of a football field to find the year I was born. It’s like memory lane as I scroll past the years. My five kids birth years go by. Our anniversary year comes into view.
I notice that I feel more relaxed in the 1978 to 1980 years, I was a newlywed then and so in love. Unfortunately, I have to keep scrolling and I can’t get all sentimental over that period of my life. Oh no! Next comes the early 1970’s, a very bad time for me. I was a single mom with two young boys and survived a nasty divorce. Ugh! I scroll fast through those years. My fingers can’t move fast enough. Before I know it, I’m back in high school wearing a Catholic school plaid uniform. The skirt touched just at my knee caps. Yes, I was a good girl. Scroll …scroll scroll….Before I realize it I am at my birth year. I think of how excited my mom and dad were to have a little girl. I usually need to get tissues at this point.
I don’t lie about my age, I just feel more like my bra size than I do my age. I don’t need scrolling years to remind me that I’m aging. I have one wild mole hair sprouting out of my cheek that just shouts, “Old Lady alert!” It doesn’t just grow in, it shoots out an inch long overnight. It’s like I sprayed myself with Miracle Grow.
And so, I braved the scroll one more time to get airfare to the Erma Bombeck conference in April. I don’t scroll that low for just anybody. Erma is an exception! I feel younger actually. I think my mole hair just disappeared back into my cheek. Let’s hope it stays there.
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