Insignificant at 50

Words and thoughts.  They bounce around inside my head, with only a few making the transition into real life.  The rest are sentenced to stay in the world of fantasy.  I’m not where I imagined I’d be at almost 50 years old.  It’s taking me longer to get where I wantto be because of life’s hardships.  I’m not complaining.  It just is.  I have serious doubts I’ll ever get there now.  It was while I was mulling over the thought that I’m never going to be making western films like Dale Evans did, that I took myself to the mall and wandered over to the Lancome counter.  I was intrigued by the giant sign advertising a special cream that could eliminate dark circles and bags under the eyes.  I asked the tall, blonde, 19 year-old stick-figure behind the counter about the item and she was more than eager to show me the miracle cream.  She admitted that it was a product she used all the time.  That was aggrevating in an of itself – 19 year-old women do not have dark circles or bags under theireyes!  And I’ll thank you to get off my television and stop pretending you do so I’ll buy your cream!  While the teenager applied the cream to my face she asked me if I ever thought of darkening my eyebrows.  “It would take 15 years off your looks,” she announced proudly.  “Fifteen years?”  I asked increduously.  “How bad do I look?”  Of course I bought the cream – which was probably the whole idea, but I couldn’t take the chance.  I’ve been applying it everyday and I swear I’ve seen no change.  I could have sworn it was working in the store.  It was probably just the mirror.  False reflection I think they call it.  I then took myself to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch.  I was standing with a group of 20 somethings waiting to be seated when the hostess, yet another stick-figure, said, “How nice.  A day out with grandma.”  A quick glance at the faces around me made me realize she was referring to me.  The 20 somethings were suppose to be my grandchildren!  I ran back to the Lancome counter and purchased a variety of items that promised to help me look and feel younger.  Items that would make me feel like the hands of time are turning backwards.  I realize 50 isn’t old, but recent events make me feel old.   Unrealized dreams have played their part as well.  Some people refer to the age of 50 as maturing.  But, like calling green beans haricots verts a l’anglaise, the difference is academic.   How in the world did I get so old so young?  Where is the wisdom and character I expected to acquire by this time?  Where, for that matter, is the next egg I should have salted away and the portfolio stocks I’d planned to secure.  Actually, I know the answer to that one.  Don’t let anyone tell you that inmates in federal prison are cared for by the system.  Not true.  Anyway…as for books like Life Begins at Fifty, they’re comforting to read, but they’re about as close to the truth as the eye cream claim.  You don’t see any book titled It’s Fun to be Twenty because everyone already knows that.  And who’d buy them?  Twenty-somethings are evidently taking their grandmothers out to lunch, not sitting at home reading about how to have fun.  Oh, well.   If anybody needs me I’ll be sopping gently into the samples of anti-wrinkle cream the Lancome lady gave me.  “Nature needs a big lift sometimes,” she told me as she frowned and tossed the cream into my bag.