I just don’t get it! Over fifties all lumped together as this old, over the hill bunch of people who would all like to live in a relocatable village. Its true! Everytime I drive down the Pacific Highway this sign makes me see RED – “Lifestyle living for the over 50s” it says! WHAAAAAT!!!! I then start talking to myself, ranting is more like it! I am over fifty and why would I want to live in a place like that? Seriously, its in the middle of NO WHERE! All these boxy (poxy) relocatable homes corralled together with only inches to spare between each one. I try to look around (while I’m driving) to see SOMETHING that would convince me that living there would be a fantastic alternative. Book shop – no; coffee shop – no; shoe shop – no; cinema, theatre, delicatessen, hairdresser – no no no no no!
If I wanted to die that is where I would go … or if I was on the run and wanted to change my identity!
But back to being over 50 (and closer to 60). I LOATHE that label. Fifty is the new forty, maybe, but it all comes back to you. I refuse to stop wearing stilletos and start wearing elastic waisted trousers in lovely (flattering) shades of puce and purple, or the very safe navy blue. I refuse to keep dying my hair because it makes you look younger – that one I think was invented by the companies that sell hair dye. I refuse to stop listening to Triple J. And – I refuse to grow up!!!
No I’m not a barbie doll or a pampered second wife, although often I wish I could loose a couple of kilos and spruce myself up a bit … but after a couple of reds, what the hell. I’m secretly looking forward to sixty. But I won’t be joining quilting, needlework or U3A groups and you won’t find me looking after grandchildren or making excuses for not eating exotic foods.