What’s the deal with the economy?
I don’t like that it costs about $34 for a sprig of mint and a box of almonds at Whole Foods, and I don’t like that Buck Fitty has upped the burrito ante by a whopping $0.50. I’m a girl on a budget, and these things make a difference. And while I don’t really know what the deal is with the “Wall Street fat cats” or whatever, I suspect they’re not adorable kittens but feral Bengal tigers hungry for my hard-earned laundry quarters (according to the presidential candidates, at least).
But there is a shriveled little glimmer of Obamanian Hope that has come of this dismal dungeon barren of anything resembling a Scrooge McDuck-style pile of golden coins.
This month, Los Angeles Times columnist Rosa Brooks wrote that this summer “53 percent of the cosmetic surgeons surveyed by the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery reported that their businesses were suffering as a result of the recession.”
This is excellent news.
While I wouldn’t call myself an expert on aesthetic plastic surgery, I take this to mean that people, namely Beverly Hills Chihuahua-toting “32”-year-olds may just decide that they like succumbing to Ye Olde Father Tyme (and the laws of physics) and let those wrinkles just go crazy up in their faces. Which, of course, means embracing Old Person-dom to the fullest extent instead of fighting it like a skintight salmon swimming up a stream of dead botulism. I, for one, am looking forward to the awesomeness of Old Person-dom, and here’s why:
First, there’s the freedom to dress for comfort 24/7. By the time I’m an old person, I will have no one to impress except my baker’s dozen of cats and future husband Emile Hirsch. That means I’ll be free from the current social stresses of dressing “effortlessly” stylishly for the dog-and-pony show of Thursday-night parties. As an old person, I will look forward to unironically wearing the boots with the fur when I’m cold, having a closet full of stirrup pants and oversized tees from one of my many Senior Citizen Booze Cruises (see below). On the occasion that, as an old person, I’ll have to make a public appearance, all I’d have to do is go to Gottschalks and pick out something with sequins and/or appliqués. Because when I’m in my 70s, being fashion forward will be far from important. I’ll have bigger Swanson’s frozen fish dinners to fry ““ like dressing in a way that reduces crippling arthritic pain.
Second, cocktail hour begins early. As your grandmother probably told you, “The early bird catches the worm.” I really like this phrase, especially if the “worm” is gin. When I’m old, I’ll go to bed early, which means everything else an old person does in his/her routine begins earlier, too.
This includes cocktails, nightcaps and early-bird specials on aforementioned Senior Citizen-geared vacations and places like Outback Steakhouse. As a young woman, there is a slight stigma attached to drinking before the sun goes down ““ I can’t imagine why ““ but when I’m old, that’s just the most efficient time to do so.
Hopefully, when I’m an old person, I’ll have more money to purchase quality alcohol ““ bidding adieu to shots of Prestige because it’s more cost-effective than Bombay Sapphire. Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy and wealthy and wise … and drunk before “Murder, She Wrote.”
Lastly, eccentricities are not only accepted, but expected.
For example, when I was in New York last spring, my friends and I were eating at an old-school deli when an Old Jewish Lady (the best kind of old lady) struck up a conversation with us. She was the coolest person ever, mostly because she was wearing a massive beaver-fur coat and matching hat from the 1950s and totally didn’t care that it was a really outrageous look. Think of old men playing dominoes and using antiquated words like “fellas” and walking with embellished canes and talking to strangers.
Anything out of the ordinary I may want to do is more or less accepted, simply on the basis that I’m old and wisened to the true meaning of life. Because I probably will be.
If you can’t wait for a leather recliner and scotch on the rocks, then e-mail McReynolds at dmcreynolds@media.ucla.edu.