I know I've never been accused of having a sparkling and outgoing personality, I admit it. I'm more the shy, quiet type.
I like to think of myself as a woman of mystery like Mata Hari or Jessica Rabbit. An enigma, if you will. But when in the heck did I become the Queen of Dullsville?
I used to be hip. I was 'with it.' I used phrases like 'to the max' and 'far out.' I once 'laid rubber.' (Stop laughing.) Of course, it was only because I got stuck in the mud, stomped on the accelerator, and squealed my tires as soon as my car hit the pavement...but it still counts.
I was 'bad,' in a 'nerd trying to be cool' sorta way. I skipped school – but only once and only for an hour. How nerdy is that?
I was a bit of a 'rebel' back in the day. I'd wear sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off and turned wrong side out (the shirt, that is).
I loved my blue jeans with the hems rolled up to show off my penny loafers with the tassels and a penny in each shoe. It was hard to get those suckers into that tiny slot, but I did it.
The fact that it took a few weeks to see which would break first–my feet or the shoes–was the price I was willing to pay for high fashion.
My mother would just shake her head and look sad. She just didn't understand the current 'fashion.' Of course, she was someone who never left the house without her make-up perfectly applied, her hair fixed, and wearing a nice dress. I don't think she wore pants until she got older.
It's so hard to be hip cruising the main drag of our little town with the windows down, the breeze blowing through my hair, with the 'Monkees*' blasting from my eight-track tape player.** That just goes to show how really hip I was. (I heard that. Was to.)
I was trying to discuss my gradual lack of hipness with David the other day but don't ask me why. Talking to him about feelings is such a waste of words.
The reason for this is he's a guy. If the subject isn't football, softball, or any other kind of ball, he's pretty much not involved in any discussion. But I try. I broached the subject of my high school angst the other day.
I sat down next to him, entwined my arm around his, and whispered, 'Do you think I'm hip?'
'What's wrong with your hip?' he replied, snaking his arm back.
Frustrated, I tried again. 'I said, do you think I'm hip?'
'I'm not about to answer that question. Last time I mentioned you were getting a little hippy, I ended up sleeping on the couch for a week.'
'I didn't ask if you thought I was getting hippy, I asked you if you thought I was HIP,' I shouted.
'Well, you don't have to shout at me,' he mumbled.
'Yes, I do,' I replied. He better start wearing his new hearing aids soon.
Come to think of it, he never was much of a talker when we were dating and neither was I.
Most of the time on our dates was spent listening to Charlie Pride, Wanda Jackson, Lynn Anderson, Moe Bandy, etc. on the eight-track tape player in his car or the reel-to-reel in his house.
At least my taste in music has upgraded from bubblegum pop to countrywestern. I no longer read Tiger Beat or People magazines. You know you're old when you don't recognize anyone in People magazine anymore. Or on the awards programs. Or 'Dancing With The Stars(?).'
Anyway, once a week we have a couple of grandsons spend the night and I find most of my Saturdays now occupied with trying to figure out something different to feed them. I'm so bored with the same old hamburgers, pizza, grilled cheese, or breakfast foods.
I realized I was dull when my days morphed into cleaning the house after the grandsons have been here for a day or two and deciding what the heck I can make for supper 24/7.
(But don't tell the grandsons. They think I'm cool. Of course, they're still young and easily fooled.) Do I want to schlep to the store to get the ingredients? (The answer is always NO.)
How can I find recipes that don't call for exotic spices such as paprika or something called 'seasoning salt'? If it ain't salt and pepper, I'm done.
* The Monkees were an American pop-rock band formed in Los Angeles in 1966.
**For information on the 8-Track Tape Player, search the 'Museum of Obsolete Media.'