If there is one thing I do love, it is an older woman who knows how to dress her age–any age she wants to! Just today as I was getting my hair done, my hairdresser said her mother is always harping on her to get her hair cut now that she is over 40. Who wrote that rule book? Probably the same one who decreed women my age cannot wear short skirts, tights, and boots. I say I will wear them as long as I can get them on, and in fact, might even be buried in them, if I were choosing burial. I’m thinking cremation, given we have already used up a lot of good land sticking people in boxes in it. If one feels the need, there is always the tiny footprint that a tasteful urn–or a gaudy one for that matter–takes on a shelf. Even better, earth going back to earth–just sprinkle me at the Elbert bridge of the Brazos River, and I’ll float downstream to Newcastle. That way, I will be in the two places in the world that had the most influence in shaping who I am.
However, it is good to note that a little decorum comes with age. After all, the flamingoes of 2012 are quite subdued compared with 2011’s cardinals, which were a bit of calm contrasted with the 2010 peacock.