By Heather O.
Actually, I’m not drunk, but that’s what Tracy M calls it when it’s 2am and you can’t sleep and you decide to blog. And right now, I’m not sleeping. And it’s 2:10am. A traveling husband and a Diet Coke after 9pm is a bad combination. Add some YouTube surfing to the mix, and I may never sleep again.
I went swimming at the Y today, and the lifeguard told me that I favor Megan McCormick. Does anybody know who she is? I googled, her, and we have the same bad haircut, and the same mousy hair. She has better scuba gear, though.
Although I have to admit, I have NO scuba gear, so anything is better than what I’ve got. Still, I’m no expert or anything, but her stuff looks pretty happenin’.
But beyond the hair color and length, I’m not sure it looks anything like me. Her nose is much cuter, and her smile is much whiter. I could fix the smile thing with Crest strips, I suppose, but the nose, well, there are some things we just have to live with.
This lifeguard isn’t creepy or anything, but when a person with whom you are on a friendly nod basis tells you you look like somebody, it makes a gal wonder why he said that, and what he was thinking about as he was guarding you and the old woman doing aquatic jazzercise.
I’m not making fun of aquatic jazzercise (or lifeguards) (or old women). Not at all. I think it’s actually fantastic, really, to see old gals in swim suits, doing their thing. It’s like you hit a certain age when everything is SUPPOSED to sag, and these women, they just embrace it. After the turbo-boobed perfection of the exercise classes, it’s refreshing to go the pool and see some real bodies.
I hope I’m like that when I’m 80.
I wonder if Megan McCormick will be like that too.
Maybe I should look her up, and say, ‘Hey, we look alike! Let’s be friends!’ and we can go diving for conch shells and stuff together. And then, when we’re old, we can sit on our rocking chairs and think about how awesome we are, and then go don our swimming suits and hit the gym to show the younger women how it’s done.
I can’t wait to be old. I bet you can get away with all kinds of stuff. And nobody can yell at you, or threaten you, or put you in a time out, ’cause you’re old. I mean, seriously, who yells at old ladies? Scouts help you cross the street, and people forgive you when you forget their names. You even get discounts on food and movies and stuff.
The possibilities are endless.
This may be the most random post I’ve ever written.
I’m hanging up the phone now. Or in this case, closing my laptop. Thanks for reading me through my insomnia. I’ll be back with some coherent thoughts in the morning.