It's A Beautiful World--If You Don't
Look Too Closely
or
How I Survived My
Second Puberty
By S. Joan Popek
I'm at that awkward,
in-between age.
I'm too old for Yuppie bars, too young for a rocking chair and too
tired
to have an affair. The media tells me that I am a, "Woman of the '90s."
What the heck is that?
I missed the flower child '60s by a hair's breadth, and I was too busy
raising children in the '70s and '80s to do anything really productive,
so I decided to take a look at what a woman of the '90s really is.
Fitness. That's the in thing--aerobics, jogging and so on. TV and
magazines
tell me that women of the '90s are thin, taut and tough. Since my
ham-hock
thighs and marshmallow tummy testify that I am none of these, (well,
maybe
tough) I signed up for an aerobics class.
I lasted almost thirty
minutes.
The paramedics were very
nice though.
They let me keep the cute little oxygen mask they used to revive me.
The
aerobics instructor suggested that I take up jogging.
The experts say to start with short distances first, but they fail to
mention
that no matter how short the distance out is, you gott'a go the same
distance
back! I'm working my way up to the end of the driveway, and after that,
who knows? I might make it to the corner by the end of next week.
Another thing the woman
of the '90s
does is "find herself." My problem is that I didn't know I was lost.
However,
some magazines assure me that short of fifty dollar an hour
psychoanalysis,
inner searching through meditation will help me see how misguided I
really
am. So, I started practicing Yoga.
Yoga is easier than
aerobics or jogging,
and as soon as the pain from twisting my protesting limbs into the natural
position subsides, numbness sets in. Then I can concentrate on my
mantra.
My husband promises me that the bruises under my armpits, where he held
me to haul me out of the natural position, will disappear in a day or
two.
TV commercials guarantee
that if I
use the proper feminine hygiene products to feel fresh, stop itching
and
renew my natural moisture, I can be a true, refined woman of the '90s.
And if I take the right fiber pill, pop the correct over-50s vitamin
and
drink canned food supplements, I can learn to scuba dive and become the
envy of the silver haired set. Except, I can't swim, and thanks to Miss
Clarol, my hair isn't silver. I guess I'm just not meant to be a '90s
woman,
but the year 2000 is here. Maybe my calling is to be a woman of the
aughts.
That's it! After all, I'm
always saying
"I ought to do this, or I ought to do that." Of course, I could just be
one of those rare, timeless beauties people hear about but hardly ever
get to meet.
***
Copyright S. Joan Popek 2000
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