How The Gap Ruined My Life

Well, it’s official.  I’m old. 

It’s not that I didn’t know it was coming, or feel it staring at the back of my head as I ran full speed away from it….but somehow, I’m still shocked that it’s caught up to me.  I guess, up until now, I somehow thought all of that zumba would pay off and increase my endurance enough that it would buy me a grace period or something.

Sadly, though,  I’ve found myself turning into my mother.  It doesn’t appear to be going away anytime soon, either.

I can remember watching her when she was about the age I am now.  I thought she was as old as dirt, DIRT people!  The only difference between she and I is that when SHE was my age, she had a baby (there goes that gag reflex again, I gotta get that thing checked out!). 

I can remember listening to her as she rambled incessantly about things that didn’t seem to apply to MY life at all, and I thought surely she had become completely senile. 

I can also distinctly remember her going to her 20^th class reunion, and thinking death must be imminent.  How the Hell can ANYONE live 20 years past graduation age?  I mean, GAWD, that’s 38! 

Now, here I am, staring at the big ole 36 that’s about to crash into my windshield like a tire that flew off of a semi up ahead.  You can see that sucker comin, but you can’t seem to hit the median fast enough to avoid it.

CRAP! 

It all started innocently enough.  10 and I were at Target, walking past the girl’s department, and something caught my eye.  I stopped in my tracks, because 10 said something that made my jaw drop to the floor, and I didn’t want to step on and lose a tooth.  That’s all I need to make me feel young is dentures, too!

We saw these shorts that can only be referred to as absolutely damn ridiculous…and 10 says, “Ohhhhhh, mooooooom….those are SOOOOOOOO totally cuuuuuuuute!”  First of all, she was totally valley girl as she spouted this non-sense out her cute little freckly face.  (She has no idea what valley girl means, by the way, which makes it even more fun to tell her that’s what she is!)

THIS is what we saw:

YES, that’s right, the modern version of Umbro shorts over biker shorts.  Can you say, 1989?  OMG, I wore so many pairs of these hideous things through Jr High school….

WHAT were we thinking?  Neon colored slick athletic shorts over the top of black biker shorts that made the corduroy swish sound when you walked.  Was there a purpose to this?  Were we exercising?  Were we getting physical, Olivia Newton John?

I’m pretty sure the only thing we actually accomplished with this style was getting seam-shaped grooves notched into our lower extremities from the skin-tight nature of those ridiculous biker shorts. 

So, I buried these feelings about our Target adventure deep, deep down inside.  I figured if I just hid them, they would go away.  Inside of my heart, though, I could feel the ‘mom-ness’ brewing.  It was bubbling under the lid like my mom’s old pressure cooker, and I knew eventually that sucker was gonna blow. 

I’ve got 8 days of 35 left, and I’m clinging to them like I cling to the last few pieces of chocolate when I have PMS.  Someone could lose an appendage if they make an unauthorized movement, people.

As if it weren’t bad enough already that at 35, I could no longer be ‘early thirties.’  What kind of crap is that, anyway?  MID thirties.  MID…..what is that, anyway?  It only goes with bad things. 

MID life crisis (can you say Camaro and a comb-over?)

MIDriff-baring shirts (I could cause blindness if I tried this after 3 kids) 

MIDterm….(okay, maybe that one wouldn’t be SO bad now.)

Who signed me up for this?  This is CRAP!

Here I am, clinging to my mid-ness, before I change categories again and start the slide toward 40.  I’ve got a few more days of mid before I tumble to mid-to-late….something that makes me want to choke someone.  I started this day with a cup of coffee on the porch swing, and then it happened.  I opened my email.  What was inside was nothing short of absolutely inappropriate. 

I scrolled right past the stuff that was clearly junk:

MOLE REMOVAL (nope.  No hairy witch moles yet.  Maybe next year)

SUBSTANCE ABUSE COUNSELING ( not yet….not yet.  But these birthdays could have me there soon)

CHRISTIAN MINGLE (hmmm….one pain in the butt is enough.  I don’t need ANOTHER man!)

SENIORPEOPLEMEET.COM?  Are you JOKING me with this?  OMG

And then, there it was.  The one that pushed me all the way to the nursing home. 

Gap:  The new ankle zip legging jean

Surely I read that wrong.  Of course, I clicked on this one.  What I saw inside made my butt pucker. 

FINE PRINT:

The following photos are not for the faint of heart.  They are not for those who are teetering on the edge of their youth, those who are subject to depression, or those who are on cardiac medications.  If you take an MAOI Inhibitor, consult with a physician before continuing.

Note the rolling.  These do not appear to cut off circulation to the feet, or leave 1 inch deep dents in the ankles..but they are still rolled.  Wow

But then, there it was.  When I thought it couldn’t get any worse…it did.  The HORROR!!!!!!

An entire page of jeans with ANKLE ZIPPERS! 

Leg warmers were bad enough.  Then I saw a pair of stretch pants with stirrups at the foot at the mall and had heart palpitations.  The off-the-shoulder shirts have been creeping there way back, and Lamaze breathing seemed to get me through that.  Neon colored high top tennies….okay, I’m alright with that. 

But this?  THIS is a crime against humanity.  This is like when the boot cut jean emerged and my mom called them bell bottoms.  This is making my coffee curdle. 

Yep.  It’s happened.  I’ve reached that pivotal moment in life where the ridiculous nonsense you wore as a teenager comes BACK in style.  That point where you find yourself telling your child that you wish you had just kept all of your old clothes because she could just wear them NOW and be cool.  Here I am, world.  Here I am.  I am officially the mom who has watched her youth come full circle and bite her right in the butt! 

Oh joyous day, and just in time for my birthday. 

Someone shoot me.  For my birthday, I’ve turned into my flippin mother.  What’s next?  Menopause?

I’m gonna go write my eulogy…just in case.  And now I’m scared of my email.  Awesome.  Irrational fears.  Doesn’t that come right before dementia?