A few months ago someone was talking to me about general trends and I mentioned in passing that I used silver nail-polish. His immediate reaction was, “Then you have got to be young.”
Don’t know why, but it felt a bit strange. I use silver on my nails because whatever jewellery (mainly rings and a watch) that I wear is always silver/white gold. I cannot stand yellow gold. Therefore, the silver nail-varnish goes with everything…the other choices I make are translucent white and a light toffee that sort of merges with the skin tone.
“I am not young,” I told the person. “Is silver a young colour?”
“It is hip.”
I don’t know why I began to feel guilty. Yes, guilty. As though I were misleading the world.
That has not stopped me from wearing the colour, though, but it is less frequent and I am more conscious.
I read about ageism, and it has always appeared to be something quite other-worldly. I cannot identify with this growing old business. Keeping the kindness of nature aside, I just don’t feel the burden of accumulating years. I am not the giggly girlie type, so that isn’t the reason.
Is it that there is always a newness around me, a sense of resurgence? Even the morbidity has life! Well, I think so…
And yes, there are my young friends. I had once written an article about young men and old men…today let me tell you about the young guys.
I like them. No, not because they make me feel like a teenager, but due to the absolute trust they display. They do not make me feel like a freak for giving people the benefit of doubt. Always.
We get on great. Sometimes I have to deal with their girl-friend problems, I have to answer questions about “how chicks operate, man?” or “why can’t these babes talk sense?” It is fun because I have to go back into some flashback and wonder what I had done in such situations, and I tell them those girls are just fine and they say, no, you would never have done that. And I tell them that I still do, which is when they say, “Hey, then you are my type.”
I have to remind them that is exactly what pissed them off about the others. That is when I get that clincher, “But you are different…I like older women.” Sure, kid, and I like the Pope. But, honest, it is no ego-boosting exercise, for again they know where they figure and I know that too. Here, then, two gems from the dudes:
- “Don’t lose that wide-eyed wonder. Even if someone your type does not appreciate it, it will still help you discover the world.”
- “If you can make a pimply guy with overworked hormones not feel like a jerk, and even respect him later despite his behaviour, then you will always be my friend.”
And these are the guys who get sozzled, spend most evenings at discs…but these are the same fellows who used to call me on New Year’s Eve and say, “Come with us. We promise we will not get drunk, we will go to a nice decent place where we can chat and if you want to get home at 12.30, we’ll drop you back and return for hard partying.”
I’d say, no, this year I want to be so happy that I feel like being by myself. And they’d reply, “Can we call you every hour to check how happy you are getting?”
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The headline is a Guatemalan proverb