Last night, I was walking to my car after hot yoga and I ended up behind an older couple chatting, arms linked, and shuffling along the sidewalk at a geriatric pace. My gait guaranteed I would catch up with them, but walking interlinked they were taking up the whole sidewalk and no one looks like a bigger prick than someone who pushes passed an adorable elderly couple, so I slowed down while I tried to figure out my maneuver. And then the old man began to fart.
Admittedly, I checked out backside, half expecting to see his trousers flapping like a flag in a hurricane. I was surprised when they weren't because the sounds coming out of there were like the ass blazing grand marshal of the one man toot parade walking down DC streets, feminine mascot in tow. Most surprisingly, he didn’t flinch; neither did she. They just kept on conversing like farting loud and long enough for the morning birds to hear was common and not at all funny. I, on the other hand, didn't have time to giggle as I quickly picked back up my speed and walked on the other side of the telephone pole to end up in front of the couple.
Once in a safe zone, I began to wonder: Is this what getting old is? Farting your way down city streets; or perhaps is the notion that things like that don’t matter - any and all fucks to give have been long lost, used or discarded. I look forward to the day my mouth is like his ass: Anything that comes out of it is fine; excusable and normal: I'll own it, the public can shove off, and my (hypothetical) husband will still hold my hand.
Being old is going to be awesome.
However, I have some time to wait; happily, at that. I have a long ways to go before flatulence isn't funny or even acknowledged. So it bothers me that every time I scroll through my facebook feed; a list of peers that houses the ages of 25 to 35, that there’s always someone claiming: "I’m old", their refusal to acknowledge they're turning one year older, or "I feel old". We are in our prime and my friends; family; acquiescence; random-facebook-friend-I-can’t-remember-how-we-met, are all spouting this dumb shit about how old we are. And we aren’t at all "old"
If they're old, then I'm old. I don't need the reminder that I’m getting older; it's like listening to a clock click down to death. Just knock it off. Stop making me feel like it’s not a privilege to turn 31. And stop insinuating that 30-somethings are ancient when you are 26 and lamenting “God, I’m old”. We’re always older; I’m older now than I was the paragraph before this. So what. Our lives are ahead of us and much of it in good health (God willing) and that's fucking exciting. So what if you got a new number to say when people ask your age. Woo-hoo you made it that far without falling into a sidewalk grate! Or kid just started kindergarten. Way to go; you kept an entire human alive for five years! Or that you got excited for a new shower curtain. It's pink! The human condition is weird. I don't understand why we can't just be excited without deprecating age or accidentally telling a feed who might also be excited about something you think makes you "old", that they're "old" too. They're not; you're not: There are some really cool shower curtains out there.
Growing older is a privilege this generation treats like a monster under the bed. Only there are no monsters under the bed; there never were. And we’re not old; we’re older. And that’s something to be celebrated, not chastised. So until we’re propelling ourselves down the street with the air coming out of our asses, let’s ease up on the “old” talk, shall we. I’m 30 years young. I have years and years to wait before I can say whatever I want and get away with it. And, anyway, age is a frame of mind.