I weirdly look forward to retrieving the mail every day. My heart perks up each time I pull down the door and peer inside, hoping for a throwback to the good old days with a letter (remember those?), or even a card. These days we are inundated with offers for Charter Cable (Um, no wonder you are struggling financially, it’s been five years of at least weekly unsolicited mail… see antiquated method of communication, above.) There are also slick ad pages I never read, and plastic index cards wrapped in more plastic touting cement repair, awnings and all sorts of things I don’t need, a few stray bills that I haven’t as yet put on direct pay, and, of course, catalogs.
Now catalogs are a godsend for people like me who hate shopping. Of course, they are also superfluous because I can just go online and see the same thing, but they do their job as they remind me to go on the computer and start buying.
Clothes shopping has never been so stress and angst free. No looking in harsh dressing room mirrors and critically judging what fifty plus years of life does to one’s body, no wondering why a size in one brand is not the same as another, no “too many choices” overload. Just pick, click, and return if it doesn’t fit.
Unfortunately, one of the chosen outlets I shopped wanted to reward me with a “free” gift. First of all, if I have learned nothing else from 53 years on this earth, it may be included, but it certainly isn’t free. Another thing I have learned, If it is “free,” you probably don’t want it.
So in the mail comes my “free” Glamour magazine. I do admit when I was their target audience 30 years ago, I did enjoy it. Now I really am not very interested in 97 instant outfits, fashion Dos and Don’ts, or what men REALLY think about on-line dating. And the “guy” who gives advice to readers? “Jake” was writing the column 30 years ago, so he has to be at least in his 50’s by now. I am pretty sure his advice is a little outdated for current twenty somethings. Seriously, you know this column is written by a woman because it is all about feelings and emotion, come on!
My Glamour, as defined by this magazine, left around the same time as I had my second child. Somewhere in mid child-bearing years, you rush into a grocery store, unshowered and in sweats, with baby puke on your shoulder. You come to the stunning realization that the bag boys will never again look at you with lust, but with mild revulsion. Worse, they probably won’t look at you at all. And you don’t care.
So let me redefine true glamour. It’s sitting on your own back deck, holding hands with your bald and beautiful partner of 28 years, still laughing and telling stories probably told before. Glamour is facing life’s challenges; like cancer, loss of loved ones, financial problems and all the hiccups, bumps, dead ends and wrong turns in life, with grace and humor. Glamorous is the woman who nurtures babies and raises rambunctious toddlers, needy grade schoolers, nasty tweens and defiant teens into beautiful, caring young adults.
And believe me, if you want to know the epitome of sexy, it’s watching your husband gently help care for your ailing, elderly parents with patience and love.
I can assure you if you hear a women in her fifties worrying about being “hot,” she is referring to her temperature and not how she looks! And she is both the best kind of glamorous and BEAUTIFUL!