
Summerville Journal Scene ®
Age creeps up in funny ways. It might manifest itself as creaky knees, or a sudden appreciation of naps.
For me, it was threading a needle.
I’m no seamstress, but I enjoy replacing loose buttons. (Hey, I take my hobbies where I can find them.) Lately, however, I can’t see the eye of a needle, let alone thread it. Finally, my patient husband showed me how to use a flexible needle threader.
I hated it. It made me feel like a 90-year-old crone gumming snuff in a rocking chair, so I trashed it.
Yesterday I lost a black button on a pair of slacks. Grimly, I grabbed needle and thread, turned on every light in the house and went to work. Ten minutes later—oh, joy!—the needle was threaded.
Here are some other signs of “maturity,” which arrive no matter how we kick and scream:
* You remember when movie previews didn’t include 15 minutes of commercials.
* When making a meal, you opt for nutrition over satisfaction, i.e., grilled salmon vs. fried Twinkies.
* You remember when only loose women had tattoos.
* You used to run, until your knees gave out. Then you started walking. Now you swim.
* You hear yourself saying, “Back in MY day…”
* In your heart of hearts, you still think children should be seen and not heard.
* Men: If you don’t stand up when a woman enters the room, it’s because both your legs are broken.
* You’ve slurped the world’s best root beer at an A&W drive-in.
* You remember when an old man came around with an even older mule to till your parents’ garden every spring.
* You have a metal strongbox, and only you and God know what it contains.
* You owned Gumby AND Pokey. Plus an Easy-Bake Oven with metal cake pans.
* The words “castor oil” still make you cringe.
* Your mother made curtains, aprons and many of your clothes.
* You still call mobile homes “trailers.” (And I’d like to say right now that some of the finest people I’ve ever met lived in trailers—I mean, mobile homes.)
* You write a thank-you note if your neighbor leaves zucchini on your doorstep.
* You remember when dogs ate table scraps, period.
* Your teachers and neighbors had permission to whip your behind.
* You cropped tobacco to earn spending money.
* You’re astounded by pierced lips, tongues and belly buttons.
* You know what a dumbwaiter is. You don’t have one, but you know what it’s for.
* You remember when wearing white was taboo for second-time brides.
* You have fond memories of “Rin Tin Tin” and “Romper Room.”
* You learned to drive on a stick-shift.
* You remember flypaper, sea monkeys and Mexican jumping beans.
* Your grandmother’s house had a trellis with climbing roses.
* Your personal files contain a will, a deed and birth certificates. (And investments that will shock your heirs.)
* You wish nurses still wore those crisp caps, white hose and rubber-soled shoes.
As for the black button, I’m proud to say I sewed that sucker on good and tight.
Too bad I used navy blue thread.
Julie R. Smith, who will go dotty long before her dotage, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.
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