J is for Joy B is for Bringer A is for Age…
Here is me: I love to trip people at work. Just thinking about some of the epic falls I have created brings a smile on my face right now (no bodies were harmed in my shenanigans– I PROMISE). I love to push people over when they are stooping down to pick something up. Once, I blew crumbled, dry crackers into a co-worker’s face. …she loved it. …I could have wet my pants I laughed so hard. We all did. I dance around and hip check someone trying to be very serious when the day calls for a tension breaker. I like to think that I am a bringer of joy. I rap lyrics to Ice Ice baby… every. single. time. my children tell me to “stop”. Stop tickling. Stop moving their hand around their face when they’re trying to take bite of food.
Sure, most definitely, there are more times than not that seriousness and professionalism are required. I am able to hold difficult conversations and strategize like no other. My “11”‘s are burned into my brow to show that my concentrated furrow happens more often than I’d like.
This brow “11” is a reminder that I am in my mid 30’s and am a respectable adult living a respectable life. I had never even noticed my “11’s”… nor did I know a wrinkle was called such a thing. Did you?? Being a Gen X, I am completely stuck in the middle of notable ages. (I’m also a middle child of three girls.) Unlike being the best part of a sandwich (come on, you know the best part of the sandwich is the peanut butter and jelly, not the bread) being a Gen X means you aren’t as people and relationship centered as the legendary Baby Boomers or as computer savvy and life changing as the Millennials. So I’m late to the game with cute names for my wrinkles and stories of ol’, have a tech neck and tennis elbow from typing on my computer from my couch, but still lack the skills to effortlessly create my own podcast.
Can I get an “Amen” Gen X’s??!!!
I was dubbed “The Fetus” at one company I worked for, as I was young to have the position/rank I held. Yet, just 7 years later, a stranger approached me in the bathroom about finding Botox in town while she visited. This is where I learned the term “11’s”. “You know what I mean. You have the ’11’s’ too.” Standing in the bathroom mirror with poor back lighting I stared at myself. “What in the world is she talking about??” Me being me, I just asked (I know that is probably shocking to all my Algebra classmates who sat through class after class of me asking question after question about WTH “x” equalled because “y” meant nothing to me. SPEAK IN CHICKENS OR LEMON DROPS PEOPLE! ‘x’ AND ‘y’ mean NOTHING TO ME!). Wellllll, that’s when I realized, I was no longer “The Fetus”.
I think I’ll keep my 11’s, my crows feet, and whatever cute name you call my smile lines at my mouth. I have earned these mid life signs of expression by working TOO MANY HOURS to imagine in a single year and laughing wayyyyy too hard at flirting with co-workers or annoying my children. I may look in the mirror and see these lines just briefly before I again start to annoy my husband or my children by putting toothpaste all over their nose. And some day if I decide to attempt to erase the lines, I’ll be sure to stick toothbrushes out of my ears and hold bottle caps squeezed in my eyelids, expression line free. Because I may be able to remove my wrinkles, but I never want to eliminate the “joy bringer” within.
— The middle child