Seriously, now I remember why I had writer's block.
Because I REALLY REALLY didn't want to think about this story.
Over the weekend, the Roo-girl and I went with my friend J and her 12-year-old daughter A on a shopping trip. (No, really, I DON'T spend every weekend shopping with the Roo. It just feels that way.)
So A was going to a party, and the dress they had bought just wasn't quite right. It had been purchased at a children's (oh how Roo-girl and A would hate to hear me call it that!) boutique-y store, and J asked us to come along for the return trip.
Apparently the selection of this particular dress had been quite an event, and the store is small (and J and A frequent this place), and so the salesgirl who had helped them knew them by name.
And was oh-so distressed that A had decided the dress was a little too mature for her (yay A!).
So there I am, standing there at the counter with J, A and the Roo, minding my own damned business, listening to the conversation about why A had changed her mind.
And then it happened.
"So, is this 'grandma'?" the salesgirl chirped, looking pointedly in my direction.
OK, let's back up here.
First, I admittedly have older -- totally grown -- children, who could easily have made me a grandma a couple times over by now. And I do NOT NOT NOT have a complex about BEING a grandma. In fact, I would love grandchildren. I just don't happen to believe that any of my children are ready to be parents!
Second, I am standing there with my teen-aged daughter.
Third, my friend J is in her 40s and I do NOT NOT NOT look like I could be her mother.
In her defense (if that is possible), the (very very young) salesgirl was mortified, and I admittedly did not make it easy for her to climb out of the cavernous hole she had dug for herself.
And, in the interest of not offending any grandmas out there, let me say that "grandma" does not equal "old" or "old-looking" (my mom would skin me alive if I ever said she looked old!).
I really do believe age is just a number, and you're only as old as you feel, and I do know that I look (and definitely act) at least semi-youthful, all things being equal. (Except ... um ... can someone please explain that old-man grunty thing that happens when I bend over to pick something up off the floor?) And seriously, I can't wait till I can spoil a grandchild of my own one day.
Oh, the agony.
So, I'm posting this photo ... just to prove that the ol' gal still has some moves left in her.
Rock on, Granny Janny!