I am not a vain person. Sure, I try to keep fine lines from turning into deep trenches, and I color my hair. And, like any woman, I enjoy being pampered with an occasional pedicure. But, it’s not unusual for me to run out of the house in the morning with a baseball cap on, and nothing on my face but the wrinkles left there from my pillowcase.

When my daughter sees me looking this way, and she knows I’m on my way to the store, she’ll say, “You know you’re going to see someone you know, because you don’t have any makeup on”. She’s often right, but I normally don’t care.

Recently, I was buying flowers at a local nursery with my six year old son in tow, when he struck up conversations with various people in the check-out line. As long as he doesn’t start touching strangers, or telling folks they resemble sea creatures, I’m fine with him practicing his speaking skills.

One of the people he talked to was an older woman waiting directly in front of us.

I noticed that her appearance was much like mine. We were both in shorts and t-shirts, with dirty tennis shoes on our feet. Martha Stewart’s got nothing on my gardening attire.

But, the similarities ended with our clothing and lack of mascara, because she was much older than I was. Or, so I thought.

Suddenly, she turned to me and said, “Hey! I know you! We went to high school together! Remember? Remember me?”

I did remember her. I managed to utter something…something I’m sure sounded like a small yelp, because all I could really do was wonder if I looked like she did. No! I couldn't! She was older than me. A whole year older.

We spoke for a few minutes…mostly about our mutual friend Julie, who I haven’t seen in years, but with whom she has stayed in contact. As she left the store she said, “I’ll tell Julie you said hello.”

The thing I said about not being vain? Well, so much for that...because as she continued to her car I yelled, “Don’t tell her what I looked like!”

Labels: Getting Old, Ramblings