Welcome to the Old Folks’ Home

My roommate Allison (25) and I (27) regularly joke that we’re like a couple of old ladies (not that there’s anything wrong with that*). I’ve commented on my fondness of elderly habits and paraphernalia before. Although I’m not ashamed to relate to those substantially older than me, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s becoming a bit unhealthy. I worry about Allison as well, but not quite to the degree I worry about myself; she enjoys a few younger pastimes, such as watching Glee and frequently being mistaken for a 13 year-old girl. I’m serious. One time she answered our front door and the salesman asked if her parents were home. And that’s when I would come to the door and the salesman would ask to speak to my husband. I’m not married, but thank you for assuming that neither I, nor my 13 year-old daughter, are capable of owning property.

Anyway, we’ve had a few conversations that have caused some concern in this arena. Take a gander:

Conversation of the Elderly Persuasion #1:

Allison: “We need to donate blood soon. We’ll each get a coupon for a free pint of Blue Bell ice cream. I would sooner take my own life than pass that up.”

Carly: “Do I have to?”

Allison: “Yes! Don’t you get it?! It’s free.”

(Repeat conversation 7 times over next six weeks).

Conversation of the Elderly Persuasion #2:

Setting: The two of us are sitting in the living room. I’m wearing both a large, old lady sweater and my Snuggie. She’s sewing. Wheel of Fortune is on the TV. I’m pretty sure this was on a Friday night.

Allison: “Let’s see what kind of extreme weather they’re having in Oklahoma.”

Carly: “Okay!” (frantically searches for The Weather Channel).

Conversation of the Elderly Persuasion #3:

Setting: This past Saturday night. We’re sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner that we had just prepared.

Allison: “Wow, these mashed potatoes are really good.”

Carly: “Thanks. They were really easy to make.”

Allison: “They’re really flavorful.”

Carly: “Yeah, I’m kind of surprised. I purposely didn’t add much salt or cheese and they’re still tasty.”

Allison: “Potatoes are so good.”

Carly: “I know, right?! They go really well with the rest of the meal. I love meals that taste even better when everything is mixed together. You can mix the potatoes with the corn, the chicken, or both.”

Allison: “Oh for sure. And you can cook them so many different ways.”

Allison: “And they’re so filling. I like them pretty much any way, except with gravy.”

Carly: “Me too. I like to leave the skins on. It gives them texture. And fiber.”

Allison: “Ohhh yeah! We love fiber. I also like the flavor they have with the skins on them.”

Carly: “We just had an entire conversation about the virtues of potatoes.”

Allison: “We are such losers.”

Carly: “I know. I don’t care though, potatoes are so good.”

Trust me, there’s more where this came from. Perhaps I’ll make this into a mini-bloggy-series. Unfortunately, it’s nearly my elderly bedtime, so I’ll have to continue later. Goodearlyevening everyone!

*To my more mature blog followers- that was for you. Text me if you wanna hang out sometime. Wait, let me re-word that. Send me a letter via postal service if you would enjoy chatting together or teaching me how to sew. No really, I’m serious. I’m cheap and need to learn how to hem my own clothes. I’ll bring Sudoku puzzles, baked goods and a framed Glamour Shots picture of myself to show how grateful I am. We can also talk about potatoes, or any other root vegetable that you like.

Reese’s New Mom

The following is an email my sister sent to me and my family recently.  Some things you need to know before reading: 

  • My sister is very laid back and has never been one for creating unnecessary rules.
  • Her 10 year-old daughter, Reese, is approaching control freak status.  She likes rules and structure.  I can’t judge her for this; I’m the exact same way.  Side note:  A few months ago I tried convincing Reese that I’m her real mom.  I used this as my key piece of evidence.  It didn’t work.        

Ok, here’s the email:

Subject line:  Reese’s new mom
So, this Friday Reese tells me that she wants me to change the way I run my household, including the way I address her in the mornings before school. Let me first tell you that she started her request off by telling me she wants me to do these things the way “normal” moms do them. Here is what was requested of me, as verbatim as I can remember:
1.   In the mornings, I am to knock gently on her door, peak my head inside and say (sweetly), “Reese, it is time to wake up.” If, and only if, she still doesn’t wake up (yelling louder is not allowed), I can go into her room and pat her on the back to wake her up.
2.   I am supposed to wake up (and stay awake) before 7:30. Specifically, she requests that I wake up by 6:30. I have made a habit of going back to sleep until she is ready to go to school. This is not acceptable anymore (because normal moms don’t do that).
3.   I need to make her breakfast and have it ready for her on the table around 7:20, so that we can leave for school by 7:35. She originally went for hot breakfast like French toast, eggs, bacon, etc., but I immediately shot that down and told her cereal or yogurt would have to do.
4.   I am to wear pants in the morning when I wake her up.  And a robe, too. Considering statement number one, I typically wake up after she sleeps through her blaring alarm for 10 minutes, shake her vigorously until she wakes up and saunter back to bed. No pants required.
5.   Dinner needs to be eaten at the table (funny since she is the one who is usually trying to eat in the living room).  I think she is asking for more rules.
Apparently her idea of normal is Mrs. Huxtable.  She reminded me of all the rules again last night in preparation for this morning.  When I finally convinced her that her idea of a “normal” mom was just a façade, she said, “fine, then I want you to be a TV mom.”
I slept in this morning.

“No, I am not married to my father.”

On the way home from work today, I was contemplating what I wanted my next blog post to be about.  Or, more appropriately, which of my 10 drafts I wanted to finish.  Between the time I pulled into my garage and actually walked in the door, my next post had been handed to me on a silver platter. 

As I was stepping out of my car, I heard a young voice say “Excuse me!”  I turned around and saw a blonde-headed girl standing on a scooter in my driveway.  This was strange, given that I’ve lived here for nearly two years and haven’t spoken to my neighbors for more than 10 minutes total.  I just assumed my community was specifically designated for those with severe social phobias who aren’t able to speak to strangers or mow their lawns.  Anyway, this is the conversation that took place.

Girl:  “Do you mind if I ride my scooter up and down your driveway?  It’s really fun since it’s so steep.”

Me:  “Um, sure, just be careful.”

Girl:  “Thanks!  Is your daughter home?”

Me:  “Oh, I don’t have a daughter.  I think you’re talking about my niece.  She comes over sometimes.”

Girl:  “How old is she?”

Me:  “10.”

Girl:  “Yeah, that’s her.  I remember seeing her a long time ago.  I’m 9.  Will you ask her to come see if I’m home next time she’s at your house?”

Me:  “Sure.”

Girl:  “So, you don’t have any kids?”

Me:  “Nope.”

Girl:  “Hmm.  So…do you have any, like, plans?  To get some?  Like, maybe adopt some?”

Me:  “Nope, no current plans.  I think I’ll have kids one day, just not any time soon.”

Girl:  “How old are you?”

Me:  “27.”

Girl:  “Oh, my brother is 23.  He plays video games all the time.”

Me:  “Oh, that’s neat.”

Girl:  “I remember your husband telling me about you.”

Me:  “Yeah…that was my dad.”  Sigh.

Girl:  “So you don’t have a husband?  Or a boyfriend?”

Me:  “Nope…not at the moment.  I’m sure I will eventually, just not right now.”

Girl:  “You could do that online dating thing.  My brother does it.  He really likes to look at pretty girls on the internet.”

Me (in my head):  “He sounds awesome.”

Girl:  “Just be careful if you decide to date online.  Always be sure to get a picture of the guy.  My brother says a lot of people don’t want to send a picture or they’ll only send a picture of their face.  You know why they do that?  Because they’re probably, ya know…” (holds arms out to the side to indicate portliness).

Farewells and nice-to-meet-you’s were exchanged and I went inside, laughing out loud. 

Here are the main takeaways:

  • I look old enough to both have a 10 year-old child and be married to a 55 year-old man.
  • I hear the adoption process can take years.  Maybe I should get started ahead of time, given my refusal to participate in online dating.  Especially after that conversation. 
  • There’s a decent chance this kid is about to play matchmaker.  I saw the wheels turning in her head.  She had the same look in her eyes as my parents when they spot a single male who could supply them with a herd of grandchildren.  Note to self:  don’t answer front door for 23 year-old gamers.