Over 50 – so what!

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.

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