Hot Young Blonde

I used to be a hot young blonde... really! It's true! And guess what, it’s overrated. Seriously, I wasn’t happier or more successful or content. In fact, I have gotten progressively happier and all those things since my hot self at the age of 25. And, really, what 25 year-old isn’t hot? Everyone’s been there, that’s when you’re supposed to be your hottest so you can attract a mate and procreate. Sexy, isn’t it?

My grandma would say there are “show ponies” and there are “work horses.” I mean, I’m not the ugliest nag in the stall or anything (far from it, wink! wink!) I’m just saying my looks are honestly less important to me as I grow older. Sure, I’d like to live a healthy life and maintain some sense of attractiveness well into my later years (I wouldn’t mind being the hottest nonagenarian in the home, think Blanche Devereaux.) In no way am I saying my appearance is grotesque nor am I giving up on my looks, far from it! What I'm saying is that I choose not to fixate on what I see in the mirror or obsess over (impossibly) maintaining the same physical self I was in my twenties. I’ve got other things to do.

So, I’ve gained some laugh lines and age spots and my beer/wine belly - and my tendency to pat on it like a proud expectant mother - has prompted a few well-meaning but awkward comments about my “due date.” Who cares?! If I’ve learned anything since age 25 it’s that most of us are our own worst enemy. Does anyone but me really care if there are lines on my face or that my jeans are size whatever? No. And I’m 99% sure no one cares about those things about you either, unless you are, in fact, the center of the universe. 

Look, I will never be (thank God!) or look like a 25 year-old again, and neither will you (unless you’re one of my hip young millennial coworkers.) I wouldn’t trade a day of my 37 years to go back. Ok, maybe that day I so gracefully threw up in a cup coming home from a drunken night with an old friend, spilled it on myself, unzipped my skirt to take it off then walked into my apartment building where I unexpectedly came face-to-face with a co-worker, where I gave a friendly nod, then briskly turned to walk away with puke everywhere and my ass hanging out. Yep, that day…that day I would trade, but that’s it.

To me, a life best lived is one that includes the things you love, not deny yourself - which is why so many of my meals involve cheese, wine and carbs… you know, just in case it’s my last… You can’t reverse time no matter how hard you try. So, instead of spending my days trying, I’m going to embrace who I am now, a hot beer-drinking, pizza-eating 37 year-old, wrinkles and all. And  with that, I will continue to be happy.