…and so it was, as I got out of the car at the gym today, that I accidentally made an old lady noise.

Don’t be tellin’ me to eat more fiber. Or less. That is no way to speak to a woman of my age. And it wasn’t that kind of noise, anyway, but it made me laugh as I stood there in line behind the yogapeople, and since people stare when I laugh in public for no reason I was trying to hold it together, but then I inhaled and it happened again!

“Snnnnrrrrrrk.” Hell WAS that???? That noise that sort of comes from your nose and your throat, and it’s kind of growly like something is preparing to emerge, but it doesn’t. Like you are snoring but you aren’t asleep. A daysnore.


So, either I have become an old lady or I have swallowed one****.

Which reminds me….

This weekend I drove to a nearby college town to meet some friends, and my 80 year-old mother was with me because I was going to hand her off to my sister and sprint away as fast as I could because two hours in the car with her is enough. There are always many, many Noteworthy Conversations that take place when we are in the car together. My favorite this trip was, as we were discussing the relationship choices of someone we both love – and when I say “choices” I mean the individuals this person chooses to have relationships with, but my mother meant not only that, but the fact that those relationships have been exclusively same-sex relationships for fifteen years – she said (again), “I don’t love her any less, but I don’t understand it.” and I said (again), “That is because you are not gay.” and she said “I just don’t know what I would do if a woman kissed me on the mouth. There was one time in college that we were all changing in the locker room….”

imageIt was here that I floored the accelerator and tried to pass in between two 18 wheelers in the hopes that she would panic and change the subject but no, she kept going: “and the girl next to me started popping me with a towel and neither of us were dressed…”

It was at this point that the People in My Head started singing, very, very loudly but I could still hear her when she said “so I shut that down right away.” and I exhaled and slowed down and we went on to talk about how that same person that we both love should move her dresser in front of her closet door when she leaves the house as a deterrent to any serial killers that might want to hide there. Or something like that.


Which reminds me….

Have you ever noticed that when men are sitting together, and there is an odor that can only have one specific offensive origin, it’s really kind of no big deal? They ignore it, or if it’s particularly heinous they will blame each other, or claim it. Then they pick up where they left off.

Women are different. If say, one of us drank or ate something that…well, maybe not “disagreed” with us so much as it was still forming an opinion and tabled the discussion….but in any event, if there were suddenly a noxious odor surrounding a group of women, they immediately stop making eye contact with each other. They begin to scour the room with very concerned looks on their faces, presumably looking for the person responsible because clearly they need an ambulance.

Under no circumstances do they high five each other and shout “NICE WORK, GURL!” ESPECIALLY if there are only two people at the table. Don’t ask me how I know.

Which reminds me….

I bought a fart book. It’s called “FARTS – A Spotter’s Guide” and it’s the prequel to Jurassic Farts. It’s one of those interactive books where you push a button next to an illustration and it makes a particularly awesome farting noise that coincides with what is being described. My favorite is one called “Flight of the Buttock Bees.”

Just because.

Did you think I was going to have a point?

Which reminds me….

My daughter had another sleepover last weekend, and I made them waffles for breakfast. And this sweet little doll watched me use my waffle iron and she said “Is that how they did it in the olden days?” and I said “YES it’s an old pioneer recipe called Hungry Jack. I’m also making sausages called Little Smokies, which is what we do with the cats when they get too old.”

No, I didn’t.

Which reminds me….

It seems like every time I turn around lately, I run into somebody I used to date. Not the same somebody. And despite the internet’s weird and persistent obsession with abbildung-4-invasion-of-the-body-snatchers-philip-kaufman-1978-united-artistspointing their sweaty, shaky, judgy little fingers at people who get married and then have the audacity to look directly at, and/or talk to members of the opposite sex like it’s totally normal and not something scandalous, I generally talk to them. Sometimes I buy them a drink. If I’m at a bar, because they don’t sell booze at J.C. Penney’s. I asked. I have yet to stumble and fall on to anyone’s penis, but then I’m super careful where I step.

After I talk to them for a bit, I remember why we weren’t compatible. I am absolutely certain that they are having the same epiphany, because they start to get that LOOK. The one that says “oh….I owe her money/wrecked her car/committed a felony and skipped town” or “wait, didn’t she date my brother/break up with me on Christmas Day/refuse to post my bail?” My point is, I am reminded how lucky I am to have the relationship I have, and that may be the best thing about middle age. Perspective. ‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t gravity.

I just spent twenty minutes reading trivia about Invasion of the Body Snatchers 1978, from whence that picture came. For those born after that, it’s about alien pod people who replace you with an emotionless replica while you sleep.

Which reminds me…..


****Update: I had a sinus infection. No old ladies were harmed during this free-association.

9 thoughts on “And That Is Why I Don’t Free-Associate

  1. I mean this in the best possible way … I feel like I just had a conversation with my mother. When she’s crazy. Stream of consciousness but I am always entertained.

    I think I was snatched. That was the year I was born, so it’s possible that it’s true. You know what I’m talking about.Quit trying to be confused.

  2. Hahaha. 🙂 Farts are just a part of life. I mean, we could hold them in and just wait to blow up when we turn 50, or we can learn to appreciate them. 😀 You’re right about how men deal with them. My husband thinks farts are the funniest thing ever and just laughs and snorts and gaffaws.

    Great post. 🙂

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