KU: Mom, you just had a birthday, right.
Me: Yes, KU
KU: And you didn’t like it because you are so old
Me: Something like that
Kullen: Well, I have an invention that might help
Me: So what is it
KU: It is an invention that removes oldness
Me: Really . How does it work?
KU: You put the person in one end of this big box and when they come out the other end they are younger
Me: Does that mean I would be your age when I came out
KU: You can’t expect miracles. Nothing can remove that much oldness.
Me: Thanks son. So how much oldness could it remove?
KU: About 60 years
Me: Kullen I am only 50. Thanks again.
KU leaves the room and comes back a minute later
KU: I thought of a better invention
Me: What’s that?
KU: a machine that snatches back your words before someone else hears them
Me: That’s a great idea. It might even save your live someday.
KU: That’s why I thought of it.
Frankly, it sucks but it is better than dying in the toilet with your pants down. I mean at this age the probability of that happening increases with every trip too the bathroom.
Turning 50 makes you grumpy. It becomes a perpetual state of being because everything gets even bigger than when you were in your forties. Your medical bills, your waist size, and your appetite. Even your ears get longer...and why? What exactly is the point of having bigger ears at this point in one's life? I really don't want to hear the normal everyday crap. Frankly, I just want to tune my kids constant arguing out. I really don't have a need for longer ears at this point in my life but I suppose since I have two they will just match my not-so-perky breasts. Yep, their giddy-up-and-go, to my dismay, turned into how low will you go? And need I remind you that your feet also get bigger. Why so you can trip over them and break a hip? Oh yeah, and your nose also grows. Really! I already paid for one nose job does this mean I will need another...and at this age vanity about one's appearance is just not attractive. You may raise, nip and tuck but you certainly don't talk about it.
Another not so pleasant aspect of turning 50 is that you develop gas...bad gas. The roll down your window down for 5 minutes, blow fresh-ar-in-your-face kind. The "ewww are we driving by a dairy or something?" kind of farts. It's then that you realize that your only option to prevent cow comparisions are to live on foods such as liver and onions and tomato juice. Nasty digusting foods but luckily your taste buds are also going on the fritz so suddenly silk worms seem palatable.
And did I mention hot flashes? The kind that can light up New York City. The kind that mean you have to wash your sheets on a daily basis. I don't know about you but I kind of feel like at this age the laundry should be getting less and not growing into monsterous unending piles
of drugery.
Fifty is when you start thinking your cellulite looks good compared to the rest of you. It's when chin hairs become a topic of conversation...though I might add that I really know nothing about the subject...I've only heard about it from the "bloomer" crowd.
You also start considering your options for funerals and do complex calculations to determine if buying the plot now is more cost effective than waiting for when its needed. And if you are smart you leave written instructions instead of letting your kids decide you look good in red when you know all it does is make you look all washed up and out. So in order to avoid this type of embarrassment I have planned my funeral down to my last breath. It will go something like this if I have my way about it:
First of all I want a tape played at my funeral. "THought You Got Rid Of Me, Did You? You didn't think a controlling person like me would go that easily without having the last word, did you? Really? And I will tell everyone those pearls of wisdom I gleaned like "Marge, you know how you always thought those honking horns that happened when you weeded the yard were for that perpetual smile you had plastered on your face? They weren't. Honey, its because when you bend over like that you have plumbers butt and everyone was really just saluting the moon."
Oh and that nude picture taken of me when I was 22....I want it blown up to 20x40 size and placed in the church hall. I should have loved and appreciated that "hot mama" body then not 30 years later. And on the napkins I want printed 'Girls take tons of bikini shots when you are in your 20's...you will never look better and you will never regret it.'
The pallbearers? Well, I want them to be cabana boys in speedos with purple bow ties who then return after I am in the hearse to serve the ladies at the reception. I didn't get them when I was a live so I want my friends to enjoy them compliments of me. Leave plenty of $1 bills out on the table for the girls!
Music. Hymns...I think not. I will be making a compilation of my favorite songs. I do know that I want LOLA by the Kinks blasting the roof off the church.
Casket. Well, I want Kullen to draw cartoons all over my 'Eternal Rest in Peace' box. And I want him to leave space for my friends and loved ones to write whatever they want. Sharpies of all colors to be provided.Be sure to write something that will cause a scandal. I never caused enough of them in life so I want something really juicy in death. Then after the burial I want someone to take my ashes (yes I still want the headstone) and bury them somewhere out in the great beyond. Then in 20 years send my grandkids on a round the world scavenger hunt for my urn. Whomever finds it gets my charred remains plus $20,000 and pretty good deal if you ask me.
Now about my final resting place. After all this geneological work and realizing I have not had the benefits of castles and such that my late relatives did, so, in death I wish to be treated like the princess I was meant to be. Like Diana I want my body placed on an island where people have to take 5 minutes out of their busy lives and row out to see me. A pit toilet should be within an easy 2 minute walk as I want there to be no excuse for anyone peeing on my grave. In this vein I think an appropriate epitath would be "THe Toilet Is To The Left" or maybe a slot where visitors can deposit a quarter to use the loo and the words "See You Can Take It With You esp When You Control The Toilet Paper!" Other considerations are "Now What In The Hell Do You Want?" or "Leave Me The Hell Alone...Can't You See I am Sleeping!"
I am counting on you. And don't let Dad plan my funeral because there would be three long boring hymns, rolls smothered in butter and mayo with turkey stuffed inside with lime jello on the side.You know, standard Midwest funeral food. Even though that sounds better than my actual cooking I want people to get a good meal...they never got one when I was alive! Splurge on a caterer.
Finally, for goodness sakes take my pictures down before Dad starts dating. No woman should have to walk into a house and see some dead woman staring back at her. And make sure she knows the Toll House Cookie Recipe by heart because I have come to the conclusion that this one thing is truly the secret to a happy marriage!