An Oldie Or A Goodie?

I had an article rejected by The Oldies Magazine the other day. It was a brutally prompt reply. Rather than crushing my writing dream though, I interpreted it as being proof I’m not that old.

For I am a 53-year-old woman forever in denial about her age. In times of crisis I’ll still look around for an adult before thinking, oh crap, that’s me isn’t it?

I follow all the midlife menopausal pages on social media, feeling like an interloper because everyone else seems more grown up than I am. And if you put me in a crowd of 20-year-olds, I forget I’m old enough to be their bloody mother, and start chatting away as if we’re the best of friends.

Perhaps this is bordering on delusional, and could even be called childish behaviour, but I honestly feel as if I’ve maintained a youthful outlook on life. Until I look in the mirror.

My mind may be in denial but my body can be reluctant to catch up some days.

Not only did people recently mistake me for John Wayne, when suffering from excruciating saddle sore after a short horse-riding session the other weekend, my whole body also ached for days after clinging on tightly to the motorboat, as we whizzed our way around the Jurassic Coast a few days later. Less dramatically, I then slept awkwardly in bed and so proceeded to walk around as if I was nursing a broken neck.

And after dancing the whole day away at Radio 2’s Party in the Park, I had nothing but utmost respect for the headlining acts. They were at least ten years older than me, and spent 90 minutes singing and dancing their way around the stage all night.

Me?

I was annihilated from just watching them!

And then I was almost annihilated in a car park too. In my defence, it was a bloody electric car whose driver was looking the other way as she moved towards me. Fortunately she looked up and braked just in time. We made eye contact and recoiled in shock at such a near miss.

Believe me, I was shaken up because - not only did I forget my obligatory two-fingered salute - I really didn’t hear a thing. I only noticed when the car’s bumper almost took me out.

Cursing the silent horror of electric vehicles that are probably trying to save our planet through a population cull, my daughter reminded me I'd also failed to hear them when out walking with her the other day. But she'd heard them just fine.

So as my hearing may be less in denial about my age then I am, I’m off to book a hearing test before any more electric cars track me down.

As a 53-year-old woman forever in denial about her age, Sue Pritchard was secretly pleased when she had an article rejected by The Oldies Magazine.