Freedom comes with turning 50

Jan 31, 2006 by

(This article was sent to me by Ellie Bradford)

By Ann Cannon – Deseret Morning News Columnist
January 30, 2006

I’m turning 50 soon (whoa! How did THAT happen!) and a few friends and I (shout out to Margaret, Anne, Susan and Val) have come to the conclusion there are some things that women our age just shouldn’t have to do anymore.

Women our age should not have to sit in the back seat of a car. Never. Not under any circumstances. Not even if someone else yells “shotgun!” first. It should be understood by everyone that our “shotgun” trumps everybody else’s “shotgun.” Women our age are the Alpha “Shotgun” Trumpers.

Also, women our age should not have to listen to Jay-Z or Ludacris or Kanye West on the radio when we are riding shotgun in our own cars.

Women our age should not have to wear pantyhose. Or high heels. Or anything else we don’t want to wear, including clothes that bind. Duh. That’s why Chico’s was invented.

Women our age should not have to go to Lagoon. We also shouldn’t have to set a good example or put away chairs at church functions. And while we’re at it, we shouldn’t have to attend maturation talks. Trust us. Women our age pretty much know everything we never wanted to know about puberty. Women our age should not have to be PTA presidents. Or PTA anythings.

Women our age shouldn’t have to be the ones who answer the phone. As my friend Val points out, it’s never for us anyway.

Women our age shouldn’t have to lift boxes. Duh. That’s why teenage sons were invented.

And speaking of teenage sons, women our age shouldn’t have to share the bathroom with them. Or their friends. In fact, women our age should just have our own bathrooms. We should feel free to go in those bathrooms and stay in those bathrooms all day long, reading whatever we feel like and not sharing our bath products with the rest of the family.

And speaking of bathrooms, we shouldn’t have to stay in motels where the bathroom is down the hall. Put a fork in us because we are SO done with that. OK?

Women our age should not have to eat Top Ramen noodles or Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Even if we go back to college. And speaking of college, we should not have to sleep in dorms at Snow College when we agree to act as chaperones on youth outings. And speaking of chaperones, we really shouldn’t have to be those anymore, either.

One last thing. Women our age shouldn’t have to get hit with snowballs in the face.

I was thinking about this last thing the other day — probably because I got hit with a snowball in the face. I was just turning around to say something to my youngest son when SPLAT! Snowball in the face!

Apparently my son thought it would be funny to hit me in the backside with a snowball. It’s such an AMPLE backside, after all, and who can resist a target like that? Certainly not seventh-graders!

But my son’s aim was a little off. Also, I happened to turn around right as he let fly. So there I was. With snow on my (stinging!) face. Experiencing Post-traumatic Snowball Stress Syndrome. Remembering all those times I got hit in the glasses with snowballs when I was in the fourth grade.

Take it from me. Nothing makes you feel stupider than getting hit in the glasses with a snowball when you’re in the fourth grade. Except maybe getting your face washed afterward with snow by a sixth-grader. You never saw THAT one coming, did you! Probably because your glasses were already covered with snow!

Anyway, my son was mortified. Also concerned. Also extremely apologetic.

But mostly he was scared. Turns out women our age can be pretty scary when we accidentally get hit in the face with snowballs.

Yes!

Sometimes it feels good to be scary!

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3 Comments

  1. Glo

    Whoa. Whooo-ooooa! this is nifty-schnifty, Ma’am Fifty!! Go-o-o-orgeous!

  2. Hello ma’am, I’m Demosthenes, and I’m a respective young whelp.

    Well said. Though I don’t think I’d ever have the audacity to call shotgun when there are upstanding mistresses of over 50 years present in the first place.

  3. Glo

    Dem makes me laugh wherever he goes….

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