If the pants fit

You're only as old as you feel.

Getting older is better than the alternative.

With age comes wisdom.

I've read all those age quotes, and have even come across books where the author raves about how great it is to be old. How wonderful it is to be so wise and confident and calm; to be at the point in her life where you don't care what people think and understand fully what life is all about...yada, yada, yada.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for growing old gracefully, and all that. And I do think that the alternative sucks, but am I embracing my age? Loving all the changes that have taken place in and around my body in recent years? Don't think I'm quite there yet.

It's the maintenance. The time and money spent on maintenance, specifically. That's where I'm having some trouble. In my 20s, I never wore makeup. Night cream? Who needed it? I didn't die my hair, or even get it cut more than a few times a year. I could buy clothes just about anywhere, off the rack, without even trying them on. And I didn't need monthly massages to remove the kinks in my neck and stiffness in my lower back. I could eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Didn't have to spend hours at the grocery store analyzing the percentage of fiber or calories in the can of pasta sauce I was buying.

A dear friend of mine, after cleaning out her closet, was in need of several new pairs of pants. Pants shopping, for me, is right up there with bra shopping, as I have yet to find a pair that fits where it needs to fit (now that I'm older). So, my friend, who is a beautiful woman in her 50s with the most positive attitude toward life that one can imagine, is loaded down with 17 pairs of pants in the dressing room at JC Penney. After trying most of them on, without any luck -- too tight here, too short through here -- a sales clerk comes by to see how she's doing.

"Having any luck," says the saleswoman.

My friend, "You would think so, seeing as I have 20 pairs here. But, no."

The woman leans a little closer. "Honey, I know. When you get to be our age, it's tough, isn't it?"

My friend glances at the "older" woman, thinking. Our age? Bitch, I dont' think so.

"You know where you oughta look? Over there in that back corner, there's an entire rack of pants that I think will work for you. Comfy, comfy, too."

My friend graciously thanks the woman, wondering how she could have missed an entire rack of pants. As she approaches the back wall, she sees why.

Pull-on pants? Seriously? That woman thought I needed pull on pants?

My friend flips through the rack. They look comfortable, for sure, she thinks. She pulls out a couple pairs -- one black, one navy. She figures she may as well give them a try.

To her surprise, the pants fit perfectly AND the way that they were designed, no one would ever know that she had graduated to pull-on pants.

She showed me them at lunch, smiling as though she had this huge secret. Now, my friend is the epitome of the beautiful southern woman. Class, all the way. And if SHE can wear pull-on pants, and be proud of it, I guess I can get used to some of the inconveniences of growing older.

On a bright note, she did send me a quick note this morning, further convincing me that there truly are SOME benefits to growing old.

"By the way, these Easy Care Pull On Pants are great timesavers when you have to pee!"

Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional.