Nice to be a baby boomer, huh? Baby boomers have always been the best generation. Not the greatest. That lofty title was given to the WWII generation by Tom Brokaw, who sounds drunker every time I hear him. They suffered in silence and never whined. They did their jobs, kicked some Nazi ass, dropped The Bomb (twice), then came home to the GI bill and dealt with their post-traumatic stress disorder the old fashioned way - by beating their wives and children and drinking a fifth of Makers Mark every night. But it was all done behind closed doors like God intended. Why was June Cleaver always vacuuming in 4 inch heels and pearls? Because if there was one speck of dust on that carpet when Ward got home there’d be hell to pay. And she’d better look good, too. Maybe he’d just assrape her instead of giving her a black eye if dinner wasn’t ready at 6. Yep - they were the greatest, that generation. Nothing like these whiny little shits coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan. Oh right, they’re not coming back.
Anyway, our generation is the best, if not the greatest. When we were young, old people didn’t know anything - now, we’re old, so young people don’t know anything. We didn’t trust anybody over 30 till WE turned 30. And then a week later we turned 40. Then, just when we were getting those student loans paid off, 50 showed its wrinkly bloated face. I know 51 is just a number - a pretty fucking big number. And I gotta tell you - I don’t feel like a 51 year-old woman. I feel like a 14 year old girl. Full of indecision, angst, insecurity/conceit, and raging hormones. Oh - you thought menopause made the hormones go away? Just another Menopause Myth. Now that my period has stopped I’m hornier than ever. I am not kidding. I had sex with a chair last week. A big, black, really hot chair. I am becoming the Lisa Lampinelli of IKEA. Taboos are made to be broken. My poor husband doesn’t know whether to be jealous or frightened or thankful to be caught in up in the vortex. He is always up for fun but now I crave variety. So I bought some new vibrators. They have the cutest names. The Bullet, the Titan, Julio Franco. And get this - they are waterproof, which is good because my old ones weren’t. Kind of scary to think about it now - I could have electrocuted myself in a particularly...emotional moment. How embarrassing would that have been? I am sick and tired of the plug-into-the-wall models and have gone totally wireless. Wifi, baby! That’s where it’s at. Why be chained to a wall? It’s 2010! No more cord wrapped around my throat cramping my style, (although Aaron really misses that part.)The technology has advanced well beyond your mom’s old triple A 3-incher. My cell phone gets me off better than those pieces of crap. And don’t get me started on the Tickle me Elmos. Waste of fake red fur, you ask me. The new battery models put out molar loosening power! I am totally mobile. Anywhere - anytime. I keep one in my car for emergencies. I have extra flares and everything. So, I am a mature woman of the 2010’s. I am responsible for my own orgasms.
I am just happy to be feeling anything at all. I talk to other women my age. They are obsessed with grandchildren, which are the natural product of bad planning. You know the story. You have your kids, you put up with their shit and their relentless imposition into your llife, you try to guide them, you bail ‘em out of jail. Then they reward you by making you raise their demon spawn while they relax in some cushy rehab. Great. I will never regret my decision to remain child-free and I know some of you people who pretend to pity my barren womb and are really jealous as fuck. But you needn’t be. Someday your grandchildren will be in college or jail and you’ll finally be free to explore the world of denture adhesives, adult diapers, and the magical mystery tour of Alzheimer’s. See ya there if we remember each other!
For a husband's take on aging wives go to
My Old Lady by Aaron StandishPosted 12/22/09
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