Ironic Essay from the Archives
At our Sunday School class breakfast on Friday someone asked to see a copy of the ironic essay I wrote upon request for the school newspaper several years ago. I thought I might have published it on my blog but couldn't find it. I did find it among the documents on my computer and decided to put it here now.
Ironic Essay
I have been worrying of late that in my headlong race toward acquiring a mature image and persona, I have failed to take advantage of one of my inalienable rights–a well-earned, deeply-indulged-in mid-life crisis.
I have thought constancy a virtue, and have therefore shunned many potential improvements in appearance.
Is it possible to maintain an unaltered hairstyle for, say 40 years? I’ve tested and verified it. The floppy swoop, the piled-high on top, the side hair-part, and the winched-down strands have all come and gone or come and stayed without dislodging a hair on my head. My hair has held very still while slowly morphing into a hoary head.
I have worn only a few select shoe brands over the past decades. For church and school, SAS leads the way. Crocs go with me to the garden, Spira goes on my walks, and Birkenstocks pad around in the house. I like them all, and when I need a new pair, I know exactly which section of the shoe store to head for.
My dresses come in blue or green or gray mostly. Nary a brown or tan or orange one in the closet. I discovered long ago that I don’t look good in them, and besides, orange hurts my eyes, deep inside. My ankles still show at the bottom of my skirt, and when I walk there’s no ruffle or flounce to kick aside. My skirts are just wide enough for the tails to fall in puddles on the floor around me whenever I sit down, especially if the fabric is slippery.
My covering has a size, I’m told, so I can confidently place the same order for the rest of my life, with predictable results. Hiromi likes the tailored kind, so I don’t see a flowing veil in my immediate future. No disruption is foreseen in this department.
But where’s the fun in same old, same old hairstyles and shoes and dresses and coverings? At this very moment I could perhaps be winched down, Nike-fast, orange-bright, sporting lace on my covering, and tripping daintily in pencil-thin skirts if I had taken advantage of a mid-life crisis. Besides, I might have flung all kinds of clutter–body clutter, closet-cupboard-and-basement clutter, right along with mental stability clutter. I would surely not have whiled away more than 45 years being either a teacher or a student. I would not still be struggling to retrieve messages on my cell phone and would instead be surfing the internet on a Droid (I think that’s the right word.), or at least have wires hanging out of my ears. So many moments of opportunity wasted!
I have a word of advice for you 30 and 40-somethings: Keep your priorities straight during the next few years. When the opportunity for a mid-life crisis presents itself, seize the moment. If you don’t, someday you will find yourself being 58 years old like me, with a lifetime of regrets.
Ironic Essay
I have been worrying of late that in my headlong race toward acquiring a mature image and persona, I have failed to take advantage of one of my inalienable rights–a well-earned, deeply-indulged-in mid-life crisis.
I have thought constancy a virtue, and have therefore shunned many potential improvements in appearance.
Is it possible to maintain an unaltered hairstyle for, say 40 years? I’ve tested and verified it. The floppy swoop, the piled-high on top, the side hair-part, and the winched-down strands have all come and gone or come and stayed without dislodging a hair on my head. My hair has held very still while slowly morphing into a hoary head.
I have worn only a few select shoe brands over the past decades. For church and school, SAS leads the way. Crocs go with me to the garden, Spira goes on my walks, and Birkenstocks pad around in the house. I like them all, and when I need a new pair, I know exactly which section of the shoe store to head for.
My dresses come in blue or green or gray mostly. Nary a brown or tan or orange one in the closet. I discovered long ago that I don’t look good in them, and besides, orange hurts my eyes, deep inside. My ankles still show at the bottom of my skirt, and when I walk there’s no ruffle or flounce to kick aside. My skirts are just wide enough for the tails to fall in puddles on the floor around me whenever I sit down, especially if the fabric is slippery.
My covering has a size, I’m told, so I can confidently place the same order for the rest of my life, with predictable results. Hiromi likes the tailored kind, so I don’t see a flowing veil in my immediate future. No disruption is foreseen in this department.
But where’s the fun in same old, same old hairstyles and shoes and dresses and coverings? At this very moment I could perhaps be winched down, Nike-fast, orange-bright, sporting lace on my covering, and tripping daintily in pencil-thin skirts if I had taken advantage of a mid-life crisis. Besides, I might have flung all kinds of clutter–body clutter, closet-cupboard-and-basement clutter, right along with mental stability clutter. I would surely not have whiled away more than 45 years being either a teacher or a student. I would not still be struggling to retrieve messages on my cell phone and would instead be surfing the internet on a Droid (I think that’s the right word.), or at least have wires hanging out of my ears. So many moments of opportunity wasted!
I have a word of advice for you 30 and 40-somethings: Keep your priorities straight during the next few years. When the opportunity for a mid-life crisis presents itself, seize the moment. If you don’t, someday you will find yourself being 58 years old like me, with a lifetime of regrets.
posted by Mrs. I (Miriam Iwashige) at
7:22 PM
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