Wednesday November 2nd, 2016 | OPINION
This is not a column about golf. For all of you wearing pants in bad plaids or mistaking this for the sports page, I apologize.
This is a column of viewpoints and observations from someone on the back nine of life. I have reached the age when I actually think about things like insurance with a prescription benefit. I never pass up a clean restroom. I consider shopping at Walmart to be an extreme sport. I don’t much care anymore whether anyone thinks I’m too fat or too opinionated or too indecisive or too anything.
There are many signs of aging that we all know are going to happen, come what may. These signs involve strange spots that weren’t there yesterday, a memory that floats just out of your reach or enough excess skin to incubate a penguin egg.
But there is one sign of aging here on the back nine that has surprised me: I have an ever-increasing desire for cute clothing. You know, the kind you had as a little kid.
I’ve spent my whole adult life in tailored business casual, avoiding ruffly blouses with embroidered daisies on the collars or humorous slogans emblazoned across my chest. OK, maybe a school logo but never anything like Dear Santa: Could you define good? But just lately, I find a hankering for the sweatshirt (excuse me, I mean fleece) that maybe sports an embroidered teddy bear in a scarf with real fringe. Or a row of flamingos prancing around the hem of my cruise wear. Heaven help me, I actually have cruise wear.
My closet is now full of happy clothes with beaded birdies and sequined gardens and appliquéd flip flops. I still stop short of puppies and bunnies, but I confess I have needlepoint ladybugs on my shoes. Again, I apologize.
Speaking of shoes, if there is any definitive proof of the Mars/Venus theory, it is in cute shoes. No man understands what every woman knows about shoes. Trust me, the collector desire in this category gets worse as you get older. Shoes with stripes, wild colors, bows, charms, tassels. Stilettos, pumps, platforms, wedges, flats. There is no limit until a medical professional one day says to you, “For heaven’s sake, if you keep falling off them, quit wearing them.”
The Age of Cuteness blindsided me. It was kind of a return to those thrilling days of yesteryear, when as a child I wanted sweet things — be they to eat or to wear. What a joyful surprise to discover it waiting here for me on the back nine all along.
BTW, are you familiar with that T-shirt with the slogan “What if the hokey pokey is really what it’s all about?” Cute. If you know where I can get one, please let me know.