Cruise Where?

Pam: I know I’m getting older just looking at my mail. Lately I’m consistently getting these clothes catalogs aimed at a woman ‘of a certain age’.

Ann: I know the ones you mean. Half of it’s filled with what they call ‘cruise-wear’ which is catalog code for two-piece, elastic-waisted, old lady jogging suits.

Pam: Old ladies jog?

Ann: They don’t jog in them! They sit around the retirement home in them. But these outfits are warm for old bones, easy to get on and off, and are wash and wear…perfect for old ladies.

Pam: So where do the cruises come in?

Ann: You’re not usually this dense! The catalogs just call it cruise-wear to make them feel better about buying the old-lady-sit-around-the-retirement-home clothes.

Pam: Okay, for the record, I am not getting catalogs filled with ‘cruise-wear’. But now I know what I have to look forward to, thank you very much.

Ann: So what kind of catalogs are you getting that make you feel old?

Pam: I was referring to catalogs that don’t have the career clothes and sexy evening stuff I’m used to seeing. Suddenly all the pictures are of women in gardens with big floppy hats and on beaches with big floppy hats. The clothes are all loose fitting and drawstring. Frankly these women look like they’re walking around in their pajamas.

Ann: And big floppy hats. Okay, I get it. And the ‘dressy’ stuff is all tapestry jackets and sequined moccasins?

Pam: Exactly! What the heck?


Ann: You’re getting the ‘near retirement’ stuff. Are you seeing lots of 'mom-jeans' and grandmothers in kitchens making cookies with four-year-olds?

Pam: …in big floppy hats. Yes! That’s them.

Ann: You’re a step below ‘cruise wear’. It’s the matronly stuff. No more close fitting, sexy stuff. Just clothes designed to hide your body.

Pam: Yeah. Not a waistline among them. The models are clearly very fit, slim, older women but these clothes make them look horrible. God, if the models in the catalog look ugly in these clothes, just imagine how a normal person would look!

Ann: Hey, you always wanted to look like the models in the catalog. Here’s your chance.

Pam: God forbid! But seriously, I worry that I’ll slowly get used to seeing this stuff and then I’ll start ordering it without realizing I’m building a matronly wardrobe. How can I be sure I’m buying clothes that are appropriate for my age?

Ann: That’s easy. You can always tell if you’re looking at a catalog geared at an older audience by the adjectives they use to describe the clothes. When you start seeing words like ‘jazzy, fabulous, festive, snappy, and breezy’ you know you’ve crossed over into the older woman’s stuff.

Pam: I don’t even know what some of these clothes are by the description. This catalog today had a center pull-out section. It was clearance stuff from earlier in the year. There were no pictures, just descriptions of what was on sale. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what they were selling.

Ann: Give me a for instance.

Pam: Okay, just a sec….I have the catalog here….For example, what the heck is a “Crisply-cropped, kimono type, embroidered inset, faux wrap, travel knit, effortless, paisley bordered duster”?

Ann: You got me. But my mom used to call her summer housecoat a duster.

Pam: See, my grandmother used to call the lightweight overcoat she wore a duster.

Ann: You should order it just to see what the heck it is.

Pam: How would I even know if I got the right thing? I actually scared myself today as I flipped through this thing and caught myself thinking, “Well, a crinkled reversible skirt in a garden floral print would be great for travel”.

Ann: Have you booked your cruise yet?

Pam: You mean our cruise, we’ve got adjoining accommodations.

Where Were You When...

Ann: I can’t believe my boss is dating a man more than half her age! Talk about a boy toy.

Pam: She’s rich. She can afford him. But you’re one to talk, Mrs. Robinson!

Ann: What are you talking about? Joe’s older than I am.

Pam: I was referring to your dating past. Remember when you met that guy and hit it off. Then he asked you out? You said you could tell he was younger than you but you couldn’t decide quite how old he was. You had a date with him one night and you were asking me how you could find out his age without coming right out and asking him. Remember?

Ann: Vaguely…

Pam: I told you that sometimes people ask, ‘Where were you when Kennedy was shot?’ and that the answer gives you an idea of how old someone is. You know like, ‘I was in second grade’ tells you they were born around 1956 and ‘I was in my dorm room’ tells you they were born somewhere around 1942 or so. But you said you didn’t think he was even born when Kennedy was shot. So I said…


Ann: Oh yeah! You said to ask him, ‘Where were you when Reagan was shot?’ instead. Now I remember.

Pam: Yeah, we were reminiscing where we were when we heard that Reagan was shot and I told you I was in high school English class. I remember the nuns had us all say a prayer for the president, for the skill of the doctors treating him, and for our country.

Ann: And I was in grad school. It was a good suggestion. Then you started kidding me that he’d probably say he was in middle school!

Pam: As long as I live I’ll never forget when I answered the phone the next day and heard no greeting at all, just the distinct sound of tears of laughter. I heard just five words choked out…“He was in freaking Kindergarten!”

Ann: You have to remember everything, don’t you?

Pam: Hey, it’s how I know we’ll always be friends. I’ve got too much on you. I remember it took me a few seconds to gather my thoughts, figure out it was you on the phone, and realize what you were saying. It meant you were at least twenty years older than him! I ‘bout died laughing.

Ann: Hey, at least I didn’t go out with him again.

Pam: You would’ve. But unlike your boss, you just couldn’t afford him!

Foundations By Home Depot

Pam: One of the women in my business meeting yesterday definitely had fallen victim to the ‘middle-aged make-up cumulative layering syndrome’.

Ann: Had it on a bit thick huh?

Pam: I think she used a trowel.

Ann: That happens…as women get older they seem to go one of two ways. They either accept that they have wrinkles and people will see them, or they try to spackle over them.

Pam: Well this lady definitely went the Home Depot route. But she should have consulted the paint department while she was there. Her face was at least five shades darker than her neck.

Ann: Ahhh….the dreaded line of demarcation. Women with a real sharp jaw line can sometimes get away with it. But have you ever seen it where a woman’s cheek fades right into her neck and then she tries to create a jaw line with make up?

Pam: Is that what they’re doing? I always assume they just don’t own a hand mirror and never see how they look from a side view.

Ann: Sometimes women just use the same foundation all year long and never switch colors to account for getting less sun in the winter months.

Pam: I don’t even wear foundation. When I put it on I look fine until I actually crack an expression of any kind. Then it shows every last crinkle and wrinkle to the max. I’m better off letting my blotchy skin, freckles, and age spots just shine on through.

Ann: Well no one’s going to make money convincing women as they age that they need less make up. That’s for sure.

Pam: When I was about fourteen, back when a fourteen-year-old was still a kid, I went on a weekend trip with my high school. It was Sister Robert Ann and about thirty of us from my Catholic girl’s school… or the home for wayward girls, as my dad used to call it.

Ann: Well it’s good to know you didn’t just suddenly become willful and disobedient as an adult.


Pam: Very funny! So anyway, I was assigned a hotel room with a girl named Kim who was always very popular with the boys. She was fifteen and always wore lavender eye shadow and heavy black mascara. We all thought she was so glamorous.

Well she stepped out of the bathroom after her shower and I was literally shocked. I hardly recognized her. She looked so different without her makeup on!

Ann: Hey, give her a break. She didn’t have her face on.

Pam: She didn’t have one of her faces on anyway. Throughout the trip I told her how great my boyfriend was and when we got back home she promptly stole him.

Ann: Wow. I bet that hurt.

Pam: I just knew if my ex-boyfriend could somehow see what she looked like without all that makeup that he’d dump her in a second and return to somewhat-plain-but-at-least-all-natural me.

Ann: Since when did men care about natural?

Pam: Yeah, I figured that out the hard way. I invited everyone to a pool party where I knew he’d see her without all the goop on her face. I wasn’t sure if she’d accept, but she was pretty enthusiastic.

Ann: What’d she do? Wear water-proof makeup?


Pam: Let me put it this way…make up wasn’t her only enhancement. The guys never even glanced at her face!

Ann: She had quite a body huh?

Pam: She confessed to the other girls that she was wearing silicone inserts in her bikini top to create her cleavage.

Ann: Well I can see why the guys never noticed her lack of makeup.

Pam: What can I say? I was playing way out of my league.

Ann: The kiddie pool’s over there.

Mom, Is That You?

Pam: Oh my God! It just happened. I had that moment.

Ann: Which one?

Pam: The one that inevitably happens to every woman. I have rollers in my hair and was working at the computer so I had on my new glasses.

Ann: I’ve never even seen you in those.

Pam: You haven’t? Well, I was in the bathroom washing my hands and I looked up and was startled to see my mother staring back at me. I’m stunned….literally.

Ann: You’ll get over it. That happened to me a long time ago. It may be your first time but it won’t be your last.

Pam: All my life I’ve heard women joke about seeing their mothers in the mirror but I had no idea what a profound experience it is. I’m not kidding, it scared me.

Ann: Just wait until you hear her voice come out of your mouth. Then you’ll really be spooked.

Pam: Oh that’s happened already.

Ann: I swore I would never say a lot of the things my mother used to say to us.

Pam: I did too. My mom used to annoy the heck out of me. I’d be having a typical adolescent meltdown pleading my case in an immature way. She’d respond by calmly saying, “I will not reinforce that type of behavior.” That just made me angrier.


Ann: I’ve heard you say that before.

Pam: I know. The first time I heard those words come out of my mouth, I literally looked around to see if my mom was there. But I knew she was four states away.

Ann: She’s quite the ventriloquist!

When I first channeled my mother, I looked at my kids and asked, “Did I just sound like Grandma?” When they nodded, in a panic I unmade my bed and un-alphabetized my spices.

Pam: Aren’t you a little old to be rebelling? Besides, that’s a pretty pathetic attempt.

Ann: I’m getting a tattoo tomorrow.

Pam: Our only consolation in this is that someday Hannah and Kate will look into a mirror and see us staring back at them.

Ann: Beware, objects in the mirror are closer than they seem.

God's Plan For All Women

Ann: I saw one of those bumper stickers today that say, “They’re not hot flashes—they’re power surges”. Then as I passed the car I just had to look inside to see who was driving. Guess what? It was a teenage boy!

Pam: And to think, my kids won’t drive my car ‘cause it’s a minivan. So what were you expecting to see when you looked into that car?

Ann: I don’t know. If I’d seen a sweaty, haggard old woman I’d be depressed because I’d think, “That’s how I must look!” And if I’d seen a fresh-as-a-daisy, cheerful looking woman I’d be depressed because I’d think, “Why can’t I breeze through it like that?”

Pam: So I guess finding it was a teenage boy was for the best, huh? God knows what he’s doing. Are you sure it was a boy? Maybe it was a menopausal woman with a beard.

Ann: You think this is funny but just you wait. You won’t be laughing when it’s your turn.

Pam: You’re probably right. Hot flashes don’t sound fun. But for the time being, I’m getting a kick out of watching others go through it. Did I tell you about my sister-in-law at my niece’s wedding last March?

Ann: I don’t think so. Do I want to hear this? I have a feeling I won’t find this story quite as amusing as you do. But go ahead…

Pam: It was a cold spring day in Chicago and we were all enjoying the reception. I was listening to the toasts when I realized something that felt profound. Everyone at the head table, the bride and groom, and all their attendants were a full generation younger than me! Then I looked around my assigned table. I was seated with the mother of the bride who is my sister-in-law, my husband who is the bride’s uncle, his mother who is the grandmother of the bride, the family priest, and the parents of the groom. I was seated with the old people!

Ann: Okay. I’m not seeing how this is a story about hot flashes…

Pam: I’m getting there. So I’m feeling a bit old when I see my sister-in-law fanning herself furiously with the wedding program and then she excused herself to get some air. When she’d been gone for a full fifteen minutes, the priest and I decided to go check on her.

Ann: Don’t tell me. She had spontaneously combusted and you found only a pile of ashes for him to perform the last rites on….

Pam: You’re close. So the priest and I find my sister-in-law in the lobby standing leaned up against a large plate glass window still fanning herself and perspiring profusely. She was apologetic and embarrassed and kept saying how awful and humiliating menopause can be.

Ann: I can relate. You say she didn’t burst into flames--so she must have burst into tears, right?

Pam: No. Actually the priest was really terrific telling her how natural it all was and how it was part of God’s plan for all women…season of life…blah, blah, blah.

Ann: So she bought that, huh?

Pam: Yeah she did. But it was all almost for nothing.

Ann: What happened?

Pam: She decided she’d better get back to her guests and she reluctantly stepped away from the cool window and back towards the ballroom. And there on the outside of the plate glass window was a perfect silhouette of her in condensation on the outside of the window.

Ann: You’re kidding me!

Pam: The priest and I both saw it and were grinning at each other as we watched the mist rising from the perfect likeness of my sister-in-law on the outside of the glass. Then she stopped suddenly and began to turn around to say something to us.

Ann: Oh no! Did she see it?

Pam: That’s the sweet part. You never saw a priest move so fast! He jumped in front of the window while simultaneously pulling me nearer to him so that our bodies blocked the scene. She said a little something and then proceeded into the ballroom, cooler and more content having chatted with us. The minute she was back in the ballroom I about bust a gut laughing. Even the priest was chuckling.

Ann: I was wrong. That was pretty funny... but only because it didn't happen to me for a change. Pardon the pun. As I said, just you wait!

Daughters As Friends?

Ann: Don’t you love when your daughter grows up and you have those glimmers of moments when she’s more like a friend than a daughter?

Pam: I know what you mean. My “daughter as friend” moments seem to hit home most when she’s using that quick wit of hers. Once when she was about thirteen, I was noticing how much she enjoyed new hair styles, shoes, purses, and
jewelry. I commented, “You’re really a girly-girl, you know that?”---“Asks the woman with the French manicure,” she quipped back. Quick…I’m telling you, quick.

Ann: Yeah, you have to keep an eye on her alright. But it’s true. She is a girly-girl. She’s always helping you stay in style with your make-up, clothes, and jewelry isn’t she?

Pam: I do seek her advice about hair products, nail length and shape, and other girly kinds of things and she’s always very helpful. But I have to be careful….

Ann: Why do you say that?

Pam: Last month we were in the drug store picking up a few things for her to take back to school. So I stopped in the skin care aisle and I mentioned to her that I am troubled by the fact that lately I’ve noticed some darkening areas on my face. "Sweetie, help me find something to fade these age spotscoming up on my face recently”, I said to her. “Sure,” she answered enthusiastically, “let’s see….”

So I’m checking out the shelves, overwhelmed by the sheer number of products geared towards middle-aged women like us. As I ponder the moisturizers, rejuvenators, revitalizes, and “luminators” my daughter, being helpful I think, is muttering, “Age spots, age spots, something for age spots…”

Then the pharmacist appears nearby to restock the shelf and my daughter says, “That’s what we need, a scientist! I bet he can help.” She approaches the man as I follow closely behind. “Sir,” she asks loudly, “where can we find time machines?”