I thank you God, that I am not as other middle aged women.
I thank you that I haven’t become one of those hypercritical, nit-picking old 50 something biddys.
You know the ones- they wear their jeans up around their chins and they still ask for a Farrah Fawcett haircut and they think it looks cute to wear their Izod sweaters draped over their shoulders?
I thank you that, unlike those other poor ‘older ladies’, I am in control of my mood swigs---- what! For Pete’s Sake! Why couldn’t this crummy spellcheck catch that!!!!!! I don’t not have mood swigs! My moods don't SWING! Good grief! But to be fair, I can’t blame poor spellcheck. It’s doing the beest it ca– NOW what? ‘beest’ it can? I need to give someone a piece of my mind…
I thank you that my memory isn’t as fuzzy and unreliable as so many other women my age who thank you that my memory isn’t as fuzzy and unreliable as so many other women my age.
I thank you that I haven’t turned into one of those empty nesters with have nothing better to do than nag their husbands. Thank you that my husband is blessed with a wife who corrects his faults with sweetness and submission and restraint.
I thank you that I am not a tiresome lady who has to brag without ceasing about her grandchildren. When I finally have grandchildren I’ll show those women what brag-worthy grandchildren really look like.
I thank you that I have a full and active life, unlike those women who do nothing but watch NCIS all day Wednesday and Monk on Thursdays and I Love Lucy starting at 5 am on channel 967 and at 2pm on that channel I can never remember, or who have to wrestle the channel changer from their husbands when it is time for the Project Runway finale...
I thank you that I don’t have to constantly interfere in my grown children’s lives,
because I raised them right and because they know that when I call them to give advice it is truly wise and wonderful and useful, unlike the blathering advice that those ‘other’ middle aged women who have nothing better to do than interfere and inquire about their grandchildren and–say God. that brings up my next point. How come someone as wonderful as me doesn’t have grandchildren yet?