AARP, Here I Come!

I got my first old-lady catalog today. Let’s just call it Fight the Heat. And we’re not talking about the environment, either. I almost tossed it before I remembered my age—you know, just like When Harry Met Sally:

Sally: I’m going to be 50! (I know, she said 40; I’m too close to that already)
Harry: When?
Sally: . . . Someday!

So I decided to at least look through it to see what the future holds in store for me.

The models—for dramatic purposes, we’ll say they were all over 60—were attractive but with that I-just-came-from-my-Botox-appointment sparkle. You know the look: skin pulled back tightly giving their unnaturally smooth cheeks and brow that certain shine.

I sighed as I flipped through pages and pages of 21st century muumuus, tummy-reducing/disguising pants, girdles, granny panties and "personal massagers." Wait, what?! Flip, flip back to the center where they proudly feature four pages of personal massagers and other "relationship enhancing" accessories.

They do say that 50 is the new 30, which is a good thing because when my mother was 50, it was the new 80. Whatever it is, I hope my, er, girdle comes in a plain brown box. And that I'll look as good at 40 as these women do at 60.