The Sisterhood of the Time-Travelling Short Shorts

May 26, 2012 By

I have a pair of the most amazing shorts that I bought at a vintage store when I was 21 years old. Those shorts travelled throughout Israel, Egypt, Greece, and then on to Germany.   They finally landed in the traveller’s corner of London,where they resided for another six months before returning to Canada.

 

Israel and Greece backpacking trip

 

Can you find the shorts? They’re second from the right, first row.

 

Look at my LEGS!! There’s definitely something to be said for schlepping a 70 lb backpack around Israel’s uneven terrain. Oh, and also for Egypt’s water. Aah, the Tourista.  Wasted on the young and firm.

 

Unfortunately, the shorts were shrunk.  The cause? Not hot water, that’s for sure. Beer, chocolate, a distaste for exercise, babies, and a love of junk food and television ensured that those shorts were a couple of sizes smaller than my body.  Sadly, my amazingly cool shorts ended up in a drawer.  For a very long time.  But, I kept them. You know, in case they ever un-shrunk. Luckily for them, early on they were disqualified  from the closet organizing mantra ‘If you don’t wear something for one year, toss it’.  My shorts survived endless closet purges that my peasant tops, tie-die dresses and clogs did not.

 

When my son was small, I fit into the shorts once again, probably 10 years after their first go-around.   How?  Blame it on the kid and his unique brain.  I’m not proud of my tactics for managing a toddler who turned out to have ADHD, but I used to put him in the gym daycare so that I could have two hours without him workout in peace. Consequently,  I was in pretty good shape.  Stairclimbing, weight lifting and body pump classes worked just as well at the back packing, although they weren’t nearly as much fun. (Did you know they don’t serve cocktails at the gym?)

 

After a while, I got bored of my workouts, renewed my love for movie popcorn, and sadly had to place  the shorts right back into their drawer. Oh, sure they sort of still fit for a while.  But only when I was in the mood for a denim wedgie.

 

Another 10 years passed.  I still didn’t throw those shorts out.

 

In the last year I’ve dropped about 10 lbs.  Apparently the combination of losing a job, having the stomach flu twice, and hot yoga work like the trifecta of appetite control. Last weekend, I worked up the courage to try the shorts on.  And, they fit.  I thought I looked amazing.  Those legs shorts represent 43 years just fine.

 

 

Following the excitement of being able to easily zip up the time travelling shorts, after posting braggelicious ‘look at ME in my shorts’ pictures on Instagram, and tossing my head in derision as my daughter coveted my denim, I decided to go outside and plant a garden whilst wearing them.

 

And I asked my kids to take pictures of me gardening.  You know, for the BLOG.

 

Big MISTAKE.  Probably the biggest one EVER.

 

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday.  Listen carefully.  I will only say this once.

 

Do not look at pictures of yourself gardening in your 20-something short shorts, especially those taken from behind. 

 

Personally, I’m happy to maintain the illusion that what I see in the mirror is a 360 reality.  Most of the time I like the way I look from the front.  Sometimes I like the side view (sans muffin tops).  But, generally, I choose to believe that there is no view from behind.  I’m just like those babies who hide their faces when they’re doing something naughty, ‘If you can’t see it, it isn’t there…’ I’m good with denial as I head into the second half of my life.

 

Thanks to the miracle of digital cameras, the offending pictures are gone.  I’m lucky. I’m not a movie star, and nobody put my bent over, cellulite-ridden, short-shorts-clad tuches on the cover of Star Magazine.  I’m lucky that there is no permanent record of my rear view that day.

 

However, I think it’s time that the most amazing shorts and I part ways.  First, to ensure that there are no more pictures of me wearing them. But also, because it’s time to move on, to let them (and me) have new adventures.  In the spirit of the Sisterhood of the Travelling Shorts, I’ve passed them on to my daughter.. After all, she’s got the legs for them.

 

 

 

Filed Under: Getting Older, Life, Teenagers, travel, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

Welcome to Peri-Menopause Lane.

May 18, 2012 By

the fun of perimenopause

 

Supposedly I look really young. But, somebody forgot to tell nature.  And my knees.  Apparently, my body has decided it’s time to get old. er.

 

I’ve begun what’s clinically called the Peri-menopause, and what’s anecdotally called, The BITCH YEARS.

 

This is going to be a fun decade plus five. I can just tell.

 

This is what ‘The Change‘ has done to me:

 

Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin. Yep, there’s one big, black hair growing out of my chin.  The first time I saw it, I was driving and I had pulled down the mirror to check my lipgloss. And, there it was, virtually six inches of vibrissa (that’s a word. go look it up.)

 

Hello, Witchie-poo. My paltry lady acne is probably nothing to complain about.  Except, I’ve never had pimples. I went through the teenage years virtually zit-free except for one beauty that would show up monthly between my eyes like a hot red bindi.  Now, I get eruptions.  Usually on the tip of my nose.  My daughter calls them horns. Today, I have two that have situated themselves like warts right underneath my mouth. They’re pretty.

 

Pain. OH.  Have you met Dr. Mittelschmerz?  I’ve known him for a long time. Except now, the Doctor makes house calls to my ovaries on alternating months accompanied by a jackhammer and a red hot poker.  The agony causes me  to take to my bed. And swoon.

 

Bloody Hell!  I was blessed my whole life with irregular periods. Now, goddamit, I menstruate every 28 days like clockwork.  What a freaking inconvenience.

 

Is it hot in here?  Before, I was always freezing cold, now I’m tempted to wear ice packs in my brassiere.   If I could walk around in my scanties, I would. Except that might be illegal.  Or frightening.  There’s nothing like drinking a delicious hot coffee and having it cause a river of sweat to drip down in between your bosoms.

 

Sexy Mama. There’s something going on, but I feel sexy even in sweats.  No more self-conscious for me. I wave my 32A cleavage around like I’m Chesty Morgan.  It’s true what they say about Cougars being in their prime. Also, and not at all embarrassing, I have become an ogler. Of the young male merchandise. It doesn’t matter if its live, on film, or TV.   I guess its my swaggy lady hormones.

 

I may be able to rule the world.  There’s something else that comes with age other than tendonitis.  I have confidence.  I am woman, I can roar (see next point).  I’ll bet when Catherine the Great took control of Russia she was menopausal too.

 

The Bitch Years.  Sometimes I want to murder people with a large shiny cleaver. By people, I mean my husband.  Usually, he’s doing something benign like laying on the bed minding his own business.  That kind of laziness really incurs my ire.  Other things that make me angry are everything, dishes not put in the dishwasher, people, mud, voices, dust, and everybody.  Also, I think I have caused a couple duct cleaning telemarketers to commit hara-kiri.

 

Cry-baby.  I cry. All the time. Even more than before. And, I was a weeper.  I cry if I see someone else crying. I cry during Say Yes to the Dress. I cry during American Idol.   I cry if my kids are sad. I cry if my kids are happy. I cry if my husband is mean by accident (but not if he’s mean on purpose-see The Bitch Years).

 

Are you jealous?  I know you are… admit it.  You wish you had my pituitary gland, don’t you.

 

Filed Under: Embarrassing Situations, Family, Getting Older, Humour, Life Tagged With: , , , , ,

How I Know I'm Getting Older: A List

April 5, 2011 By

www.seafoodpunch.com

 Time marches on, I know that.  But, I still feel so young inside.  However, when I jump around like a teen, the next day I need Chiropractic Services.  And I know what the piggy meant when he said, ‘Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.  There are signs that I’m getting older, even though I still look think like a teenager. 

  1.  When my best friend and I get drunk and jump on the trampoline, we pee in our pants (Just a little, but enough that we notice)
  2. When I’m walking through a restaurant and the hot guy is looking at me, its cause I’ve got toilet paper hanging out of my pants.  Then, he slips my daughter his Blackberry PIN and tells her to BBM him.
  3. The girl I thought was a teen mom is celebrating her 30th birthday.
  4. When I’m driving and I glance in the rear view mirror, I see a HAIR growing out of my chin (did you know the light is really good in the car?)
  5. No one cards me anymore. Even at the liquor store when I’m wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.
  6. There’s a subtle thickening about my waist, and I develop an affinity for elastic waist pants
  7. When I get up from sitting in a movie, my knees creak like the floors in an old house.
  8.  I have an urge to hand out hard candies to little kids.
  9. Ralph Macchio has teenagers.
  10. I start to buy shoes because they’re comfortable (oh the horror)

What are yours?

Filed Under: Getting Older, Humour, Life Tagged With: , , ,