Category Archives: Women Over 40

Hallmark Milestones (make me cry)

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Hallmark Milestones (make me cry)

It’s fine, I’m fine, everything is FINE….my Gawd why do I get so emotional at these predictable Hallmark milestones? My kid just finished 8th grade and naturally there was a ceremony, we have one for everything now, first period parties, hard pass. I approach these events with the cynicism of a crone, meh, it’s 8th grade not med school, calm the hell down and yet…

As I scan the faces on the stage I feel a strange mix of emotions. I’ve known a dozen of these kids since preschool, most since Kindergarten, half the grade has been at my house at some point. It’s not a huge grade maybe 115 kids and as I watch them, I’m reminded of the ever growing gap in the parental/child relationship. I’m keenly aware that while I once knew everything about my kid, I’m no longer the primary confidant. One of my friends summed it up – once we shared them with the world, now they share a piece of their world with us.

Throughout the day I hear the refrain of Sunrise, Sunset go through my brain and my emotions play out like a predictable plot, so pedestrian in their ebb and flow. Somehow I’m OK with that because this is the shared camaraderie of parents. I can catch a side glance toward another mom and within seconds I know she’s on the verge of losing it as I quietly pass her a tissue. There’s comfort in that, knowing your peers are experiencing a similar cocktail of bittersweet emotions.

Is this the little girl I carried?
Is this the little boy at play?
I don’t remember growing older
When, did, they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn’t it yesterday when they, were, small?

Sunrise, Sunset – Jim Nabors

I’m sure the middle school promotion ceremony plays out in a similar format throughout America. The same six kids get recognized every year – leadership, citizenship, athleticism and all around Stepford child awards. My kids never get them. My son was one B away from straight A’s in middle school.

The single B was from 7th grade gym class where they had to choreograph a dance. Three dudes where set to shake it to Shaggy’s  Bombastic but some Lynne Cheney type bish decided that was too risque so they had to switch songs at the last minute. So basically censorship prevented my kid from making straight A’s in middle school. That same year they were forced to do square dancing and since there were more guys than gals, his partner was a known douche bag who likes to pick fights. I don’t think I’ve hated anything more in my kids school careers than 7th grade PE.

Bombastic

My girl had one C in middle school and it happened last semester in Algebra. I can barely spell Algebra let alone do the equations, I won’t hold it against her. My kids are good. They usually make the Honor Roll, don’t get in trouble and they are respectful around adults (well, the girl gets testy around me, she is fine with other adults). So in sum, my kids are slightly above average academically and there isn’t an award for that.

They stopped doing sports when they realized that concussions are a strong possibility and my son got sick of @ssholes on the soccer field. My daughter flirts with instruments – flute, piano, and now guitar, she has some musical abilities she just hasn’t stuck to one thing long enough to excel. Should I force her to play the piano an hour a day? Seems stupid to me and I’m done paying for lessons that aren’t enjoyed.

And those six kids that get the awards, they work their asses off and so do their moms. These kids have been groomed in utero and on through to this day to stay on track – musical instruments, student council, tutors, travel sports – resources and talent have been carefully mixed to keep their kids in the front of the pack. I admire their tenacity yet I opted out. I picked calmer weekends and weeknight dinners around the table, I was hoping for some sanity.

If my kids decided they wanted to do something specific, I followed their lead. We had one year of travel soccer (crazy and expensive) and a brief foray into lacrosse, neither stuck and I wasn’t too sad about it. So now my kids don’t do sports and I think the Grown & Flown types would have me feel bad about it but I just can’t muster up the guilt (yawn). BTW, the Grown & Flown Facebook Group has some seriously mean people in it. The posters routinely include “please don’t be mean” in their posts because there are some ragers in there.

As I’ve been a witness and a participant in this raising of humans, I am constantly aware of the privilege around us. I did not grow up like this. I was raised by a single mother and I had a dead beat dad, we were broke. My brother and I had to fend for ourselves. There were no tutors, no activities that required rides from mom or added any extra expense, it wasn’t an option. We were latch key kids who understood that there wasn’t money for extras, we barely got by.  I used to clean my neighbors apartment so I could earn money to go roller skating.

My kids don’t know that struggle. They have two parents that would set themselves on fire to give them what they need and we have financial resources that neither my husband nor I had growing up. He came from a working class family, his parents were immigrants, they worked their asses off to get their kids a better life.

When the college admissions scandal blew up this spring, I wasn’t surprised. I can see this happening where we live, these people are so primed for it. All the money, time and sweat equity they have poured into their offspring, they aren’t settling for anything less than Penn State. The ones that want Ivy Leagues pay for college coaches, they’ve all spent at least a year’s tuition on the prep before they receive their admissions letters.

Back to the ceremony…there was the obligatory photo montage featuring a small collection of photos for each student. A guarantee for tears is what it is…pictures of babies morphing into high school kids on a continuous loop until the ceremony begins. My brain went through a total recall of my daughter’s childhood. It extended into the known parts of her friends, past and present.

There were times when I felt like I knew too much…that girl is on anxiety meds, that one is struggling with her sexual orientation, another was once a close friend until she wasn’t, that kid’s dad has cancer, his parents are separated, divorce, divorce, affair, those 4 kids each lost a parent (one dad died 7 weeks ago, heart attack), the boy who has been in a wheelchair since he was two, the blind kid who has the same birthday as my daughter…..my heart broke a million times yesterday knowing some of their struggles. And while, I am still somewhat involved in the district, I don’t know everything. Each one of those kids is struggling with something, regardless of the awards, perfect hair or blatant talent, privilege can’t take away every obstacle in life.

Last night there was a party at the school for the kids. It had a theme because of course it did. I can barely remember a time when parties didn’t have a theme, barbaric. The theme last night was Aloha High School. Some moms came up with theme related activities. Decorations included grass skirts around the basketball hoops. These parents are EXTRA, they go all out. There were at least 8 different activity stations all with Hawaiian flair – hot potato, scooter hockey, volley ball, an inflatable obstacle course, limbo, hula hoops, and my personal station Flip Flop Flippin.

Flip Flop Flippin or FFF as it is known on the street, features two elevated hula hoops and flip flops. The goal is to flip a flip flop off your foot through one of the hoops. Yeah, sounds easy, in reality, not so much. It’s easier to do with a heavier shoe, I know this now, I know it deep in my sole (typo intentional, calm down grammar nerds). I had maybe five customers in 2 hours.

Midway through the party,  I went over to assist at the inflatable obstacle course. Actually, I wandered over to chat with a mom friend, she soon put me to work. Before I knew it was the inflatable course warden yelling at boys to stop grabbing each other’s ankles as they attempted to climb the slide. I yelled to the point where my throat hurt and some dudes got black listed from the course. I have without a doubt destroyed my daughter’s chances of dating any of those guys, mission accomplished.

Despite the carefully planned curated activities it turned into a zoo in no time. Noodles for the scooter hockey were immediately weaponized as 14 year old boys unleashed their inner Zorro. The boy in the wheelchair had at least 4 kids on the square scooters trailing behind him in a whip chain for at least 40 minutes (I was happy about that, he had a blast and his mom is a G-damn hero).

In the end, the gym looked like a Hawaiian party war zone. The “no food in the gym” rule was breached, a Moku dessert bowl bleeding pomegranate on the wooden floor. Remnants of leis were scattered like ashes from Mauna Loa. No doubt, the remains of a good time as they leave this part of childhood behind. I’m not crying, you are.

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Next Stop, High School

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Next Stop, High School

Things have been busy around here. The Holderness Family made a video called MAYcember which is a beautiful tribute to the insanity that is the end of the school year.

Holderness MAYcember

My daughter is about to finish 8th grade which apparently is a big deal now. When I transitioned from 8th into 9th grade in the ’80s, not so much. There’s a promotion ceremony which requires a new outfit and shoes ($$$$). There’s also a party for which parents are expected to donate time, money and a pint of blood (specifically, unicorn blood).

Of course a Sign Up Genius went out via email and I was ready. I beat out at least 17 other parents to be the virtual first which means I get to be Napkin Mom. This is the most coveted of all of the sign up options, followed by Paper Plate Dad with Aunt Disposable Utensils coming in third.

Yesterday Facebook made me all gooey by showing a photo of my daughter from five years ago. It was her third grade field day and let me just say, we do field day big here. Until middle school then it falls off a cliff because middle school should suck every damn day. When I was a kid we had tug-of-war and races, that’s it. If you were lucky you got one of those frozen POP-ICE sugar water things that bled purple dye on your legs, done.

Field Day here has a theme and kids are encouraged to build something to go with the theme. They order special t-shirts each year which kids (and adults) customize. One year it was flying machines…most kids went with airplanes and helicopters, my girl made a flying saucer and it was the sh*t!  The memory photo that came up yesterday featured the seafaring vessels. That year both my kids participated. My son made a viking boat and my daughter brought out the big guns and made a submarine.

Obviously these projects require some supervision. Unlike the Boy Scout Derby Car that my husband totally made (1st place winner), field day projects are individual with minimal construction help. My daughter would always consult my father in-law. Nonno was the fixer of things around here, that Italian ingenuity deep in his DNA, he could jury-rig anything. She would come to him with a very specific vision of what she wanted, sketches in hand and he would search for the materials to make it happen. They would tinker in the detached garage until the structure was built and then she would take over with painting and any finishing touches.

Yesterday’s memory photo featured my daughter at 9, beaming with pride next to an equally proud art teacher, the submarine in the foreground. That particular teacher is a mentor of emerging artists, an innovator, one of those teachers that makes a difference. Nonno helped her make that submarine, letting her lead, making gentle suggestions only when necessary.  It was a snapshot of that precious time between childhood and the teen years. The last real bits of childhood, before you care about how you look or what others think. Before she was on Instagram or Snapchat, when she was a ball of creativity and enthusiasm guided by the gentlest of souls, her dear departed Nonno. She still has those qualities, they are just a bit muted now by life experiences and the realization and pressures of the real world beginning to unfold.

Next stop, high school.

 

 

 

Heaven Sent

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Heaven Sent

I used to visit her on Tuesday mornings. I would make a cup of tea and fill up the pan with warm soapy water. Kelly would soak her feet a few minutes and we would chat about whatever caught our interest that day. Sipping tea, chatting like old friends though we didn’t know each other that long.

She created a Facebook page for people with cancer so they could pass along items they no longer needed – wigs, walkers, canes, commodes, anything. Kelly wanted to help anyone in need, she was keenly aware that there were many people in need. We also talked about her children – a daughter and two sons. The daughter was married, her youngest son was in middle school, the same age as my boy.

After about 10 minutes I would take one foot out and pat it dry. Then I would give her a pedicure, she always liked a good pedi. It isn’t something I excel at but that’s what she wanted, so I fumbled my way through. She was always grateful for my attempt, a genuine smile on her face. We did this for months before I left for vacation.

That summer my family spent 3 glorious weeks in Italy. Exploring as much as we could – Venice, Florence, Cinque Terre, Lucca, Orvieto and Rome. My husband speaks fluent Italian and he got us some great rental properties to stay in. It was my all time favorite vacation. It was magical, the four of us in a place of beauty, enriched in history and the food, my God what a time we had.

When I got back home I was preparing to jump back into my schedule when I heard the news. Kelly had passed away just a few weeks after her 48th birthday. Today her birthday came up in my Facebook feed, she would have been 51 today. I turn 51 next week.

I think of her youngest son often. I didn’t know her that well, I was just a hospice volunteer that would visit once a week, make her tea and paint her toes. Sometimes I wonder why life is so hard for some people and seemingly so easy for others. Why did I get to go to Italy while she perished?

Life doesn’t make sense, there is nothing fair about it. So today Kelly reminded me how precious life is and how fleeting and unpredictable it can be…I feel like she would have wanted me to share that message, so I am. Happy Birthday in heaven Kelly.

HaPpY BiRtHdAy!!!

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HaPpY BiRtHdAy!!!

It’s been a while since I’ve written about Rob and Laura, my spunky nonagenarian clients. Last week Rob turned 95 and I gave him these socks –

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The birthday card I selected had two Shih Tzus on the cover (featured photo). The inside read – If it were anyone else’s birthday I wouldn’t give two Shih Tzu. I had a twinge of concern that this card might be too racy but I gambled and won. I stopped by the afternoon of Rob’s birthday to drop off his gift and say hello in person. One of his daughters was there with her husband, they all approved. The socks were such a hit that Rob decided to wear them to his birthday dinner, truly an honor.

Last week I asked Rob if he only wore the white diabetic socks that I see him in. He confided that on Sundays he wears brown socks to attend meeting. Meeting is the Quaker version of a worship service. It is a quiet gathering unless a member has a desire to share something. I’ll be honest I don’t know much about it, they seem like a very chill group.

If you watch the show Catastrophe, the main character, Rob (coincidence?), becomes a Quaker for about 3 minutes and the portrayal seems fairly accurate to me. Rob & Laura have mentioned the firm wooden pews at meeting and how they are likely designed to discourage people from getting too long winded. They noted that all of the meetings they have attended feature firm uncomfortable seating except for England where they had fancy upholstered chairs. By the way Catastrophe is an excellent show if you’re in the market for viewing something with razor edge humor which embraces the messier aspects of modern parenting and couple-hood.

Happy Birthday Rob – 95 looks great on you!

 

Napkin Mom (Over It)

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Napkin Mom (Over It)

I started out so strong when they were little. When my son was colicky and didn’t sleep through the night I would hold him, offer him a bottle, sing a little song I made up. I was a good mom. When my daughter came along 19 months later, I was still good. Grateful that this one liked to sleep more…I promised her the moon. I was so filled with gratitude for an easy baby.

When they got to preschool I was all in. I knew every kid/mom/dad/teacher/assistant, I could tell you the names of the baby chicks that came in the spring. I dressed like an adult for the Mother’s Day Tea. Hell, I put on lipstick AND mascara. For Halloween I dressed up as Cat in the Hat, my kids were Thing 1 & Thing 2. I was happy to be there in those moments, soaking it in.

My reign of good momness continued into elementary school. I volunteered for everything. I was a lunch mom, I assisted the littles with their Capri Sun straws, opened cracker packages, kept the peace at recess. I was the Class Mom for both my kids some years….do you have any idea how hard it is to pull that off? People fight for that here, I was golden. There were years when I had each School Board Member and the District Superintendent in my phone contact list. I never called them but they probably would have answered if I had (alright, most probably would have answered…..some….perhaps, two of the 10 wouldn’t block me).

At one point I was consistently attending school board meetings and I had opinions about things. Then I realized that I didn’t need to have an opinion about EVERYthing, so I shifted my focus. I started volunteering for a non-profit that provided grant money to the district. This was the big time of good momness, I was raising money (say it with me) “FOR THE CHILDREN.” And honestly it was a lot of fun for the first year or two, until it wasn’t.

When my kids were both in middle school I hit the wall. I was burnt out and it happened to coincide with some family issues and a teeny bit of social drama. I wouldn’t say I went out in flames, it wasn’t that dramatic. I just kind of walked away, fire licking at my toes and I didn’t look back.

It’s been a year now since I deserted my volunteer post and I have definitely turned a corner. My daughter has a school event coming up in a couple of weeks. As is the norm these days, a Sign Up Genius went out requesting parents to bring party goods – food, decorations, etc. I responded immediately, I wanted to get on there before anyone else so I could make my claim. It was close, I edged out 4 other moms to beat them to the coveted spot and I’m happy to report that I won. I used to be the makes-homemade-chicken-parm and brings several trays to feed a hundred people mom. Now I’m “Napkin Mom” and that’s just fine.

 

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Fixer of Broken Things

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Fixer of Broken Things

A great tree fell in the forest of life on this day a year ago and I am sad. I miss the colors of fall, the snow on winter branches, the shelter for spring birds and the clean air he so effortlessly provided. He made our world a better place and asked for nothing in return, except perhaps, some pasta.

I talk to the ghost of my father in-law daily, I miss him every day. He was a quiet man, a man of action, a family man, a zen master. He could pop over any time and I was always happy to see him. Not even a hint of internal – oh shit I need to….his visits only brought joy – a smile, an enthusiastic hello, would you like some coffee/breakfast/lunch/anything and it truly would have been my pleasure to serve….just the pasta, that’s all he wanted.

He would spend hours at our house, pulling weeds, fixing things, dawdling in that classic old school Italian way, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, the dog at his feet hoping for a crust of bread which, he always shared as he exited his car in our driveway. He was the fixer of broken things, the finder of stuff (he knew where everything was), the quiet gardener, the happy chef, a humble man who loved his family.

When the kids were little they would become attached to tiny toys that were given in party bags, random gifts and tchotchke items. One of a kind special things that were beloved and irreplaceable or at least hard to find. If something broke it would be set aside for Nonno to fix. His success rate was pretty high somewhere above 90%. He had that Italian mind designed to solve problems and find solutions, curious and steadfast in his thoughts, the man had an abundance of patience.

He painted when something needed to be painted. He organized, he cleaned, he made himself useful, he had to be productive, it was in his DNA. Like a border collie, he needed a job. He was happy here toiling around our house during the day and when he was done he would drive the 8 minutes back to his house. Freedom and independence without isolation.

He could sew too. My daughter had a brief stint in the Daisies and the Brownies and I never sewed a single patch, Nonno did that. He even sewed the dog’s toys back together. He could do stuff with gorilla glue and duct tape that defied the laws of physics, truly a fixer of broken things.

If I’m honest he fixed me as well. I didn’t grow up with a father in my life. He showed me what a good father was, I felt loved and appreciated. Perhaps that’s why I never lost patience with him popping in unannounced or declining invites to the kids events. Behavior which annoys me when someone else does it. I simply enjoyed his company and knew he loved us whether or not he attended the Holiday Concert.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year. It feels like yesterday and another lifetime all at once. I don’t know how that’s possible, it just is. My husband seemed distracted and down today. He’s horrible at remembering dates so I didn’t want to remind him if the date slipped his mind. Why scratch the scab?

I popped in his office and asked if he was OK. Told him I thought he seemed distracted. His response let me know he didn’t realize the significance of the date – he asked if it was “that time”. That usually gets a steely gaze from me, on this day I practiced restraint…then he asked if I was OK, suspecting I was hormonal. I responded with a cheerful “just checking on you, I’m good”.

I’m not good.

 

Shut Up and Eat Mulch

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Shut Up and Eat Mulch

Here’s a short list of the things that have annoyed me or occupied too much brain space this week. This is not an all inclusive list. I can’t write about the real sh*t that’s going on because I’m an adult with kids and bills and stuff. Also, those life things are boring and this is my alternate universe…

Vegan Leather – WTELF is this? I saw a vegan leather tag attached to a bag I recently purchased, I had to Google the term because I have a curious mind and left to my own devices I will make sh*t up. For example — in my version, vegan leather is the hide of a cow which previously practiced Vinyasa Yoga and sipped on the finest Tallgrass Kombucha whilst listening to chanting monks. Turns out that isn’t entirely accurate. Vegan leather is marketing code for fake wannabe leather….and worse yet, it is often accused of “greenwashing” (something else I had to Google FFS). Greenwashing is when a company pretends to be environmentally conscious but they aren’t. A lot of vegan leather is made from carbon-intensive toxins that botch the environment even more than the 4 legged burger makers so buyer beware.

Bullsh*t Ads – Ladies you know what I mean…the face creams that will erase every whiff of a wrinkle you ever had. The cellulite melting machine (10 minutes a day to melt that fat away!), the slimming tank tops that will help you shed 20 pounds around your belly and eliminate “rolls”, the undergarments that will give you the butt that Gawd denied you. Keep scrolling honey, it’s all lies. Guys get a d*ck -centric version of ads. They can age as long as everything works downtown. Words like – vitality, energy, strength & endurance litter their screens. The world is one big dumpster fire but it doesn’t stop us from wanting to look pretty or get laid (exhales).

Useless phone apps – My latest time suck is a game called Word Stacks. I should be embarrassed to admit this but I’m obsessed with this game. Every weekend they have tournaments that last 48 hours and I finish in the top 3 on the regular. Basically it’s word searches except you don’t know what words you are searching. You get a theme and look for words based on that. You also collect points for real words that aren’t in the search. I think I have been playing too much because while I was driving today I saw – TACOMA – on the back of a truck and my brain dissected it as follows: TAC, CAT, COM, MOC, COMA & AMO (pssst….I’m currently in first place with 7 hours and 28 minutes left).

Extreme diets – Sure you can eat 42 eggs a week and wash it down with 7 pounds of bacon, what could possibly go wrong? As long as you never get within 5 feet of a slice of bread, a glass of milk or Satan’s nectar (sugar),you’ll be fine. Gluten free, dairy free, flavor free, low carb, no carb, high protein, medium protein, macro/micro, kelp, keto, caveman, pescatarian, vegan, lacto/ovo vegetarians, straight up vegetarians, carnivores, herbivores, overbores, underbores (I made up those last two in case it got confusing) and fill-in-the-blank diet du jour. Just shut up and eat mulch.

I have to go now Master Word Stacks is calling me…Nonnie and GmaBoss are trying to catch up. A mere 500 points separates me (currently the leader) from second place, I can not let that happen and these words aren’t going to find themselves.

 

 

 

The featured image is from a book cover for Cow Yoga by Willow Creek Press. You can find it here Cow Yoga – I do not have an affiliation, it just seems right to include a link since it isn’t my art.

 

I Did Not Blend In

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I Did Not Blend In

So this weekend was kind of interesting…I went to a bridal shower for the first time in about 15 years. Wow have things gotten out of hand.  The party had a “World Travel” theme complete with props, a DJ, trivia games about the couple and a sea of Spanx laden ladies. There were confetti airplanes, flowers made of maps, luggage tag favors and a custom hashtag for the couple, they went all in.

I’m casual by nature and practical in my approach to clothing. Sure I want to look good,  comfort goes a long way though. I knew that flats would be out of the question with this bunch so I stepped up my game with some neutral 3 inch heeled ankle boots. I probably got them at Marshalls for $29.99, that’s my way. They’re cute and they dress up jeans with the right top. I drove my sister in-law and we agreed on our style prior to the event. We were seriously under dressed. Not what you want to do when you prefer to blend into the scenery.

The venue was in Staten Island and it was gorgeous inside. Chandeliers, a water view, beautiful window treatments, it was stunning. We knew we were in trouble as soon as we walked in. The guests looked like they were at a formal wedding. These ladies brought their A game – sequins, ruffles, prints, red-soled shoes, high end all the way. Meanwhile, I’m rocking my new mom jeans which advertise their ability to “cover muffin top” (I wish I was kidding). I wanted to die but I was hungry and this place is known for good authentic Italian food. I decided I could die after I ate, I stand by that decision.

It was a buffet so naturally there was a line. As I was standing there in the most casual outfit within a three mile radius, I noticed the line of asses at the buffet. It was mesmerizing. All kinds of asses – big, little, wide, flat, pancakes and bubbles on display in all their glory. I respected their confidence, I veer too far in the other direction. I’d wear a mu-mu if it was socially acceptable. I’d alternate with gym clothes, easy peasy. *Sighs* imagines life in a mu-mu. 80ba22001c642d83f830130a50199dbe--simpsons-art-simpsons-funny.jpg

It wasn’t just asses on display, boobs were everywhere. It was 2pm and I saw side boob, is that the new norm because I thought side boob was reserved for after 8pm? The DJ kept encouraging people to dance, while bright sunlight streamed in. Maybe I’m old (OK old and under dressed) but I like to get my boogey on at night with an appropriate amount of darkness. I also prefer to dance with the hubs and this was a ladies only event. I’ll just say it now – “Get off my lawn!” Ahhh, that feels better.

To add insult to injury, I was having a sh*t hair day. I got it cut a week ago and I’m still adjusting to it, not good. These gals had all kinds of stuff going on with their hair, professionally coifed, extensions or a damn impressive ability to use appliances that have always eluded me mainly the curling iron. I wanted to spruce things up, I even borrowed a curling iron from my friend. Sadly I did not have time to practice because something came up with my kid during the time I had allotted for that trial run.

So to recap, sh*tty hair & mom jeans, I did not blend in. I was having an off day and I was surrounded by women that could be extras in a Sopranos reboot or a new variation of the Housewives enterprise. My SIL and I decided that we really need to take things up about 1,000 notches for the wedding. Some of the outfits at the bridal shower cost more than the book value of my 2010 Honda. I can’t even imagine what they will wear to the wedding. Have you ever found yourself over or under dressed?

Invest in Yourself!

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Invest in Yourself!

Last night I posted the featured photo on my Facebook page to see if people could guess what it was. My friends did not disappoint and some of their guesses were quite fascinating. Here’s what they suggested:

Back massager, sleeve iron, sweater shaver, head trimmer (for the bald), can opener for old people, vibrator, hair diffuser, electro laser face treatment (sounds fancy), steamer, sex toy (specifically designed by aliens), toilet bowl (hand held?), portable bidet (again, hand held??), kale tenderizer (is that even a thing????), hand mixer, clothes steamer, portable branding iron (for those inclined to body modification and/or ranchers on the go), a vagina warmer/steamer (ouch), and other assorted guesses for an ionic thingamajig.

Now we did have fun with those guesses. I may have over indulged in “No” GIFS.

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If you’ve been keeping up with my blog lately (Thank You & God Bless) you may have noticed that I have been curious about making some aesthetic improvements. I don’t mind being 50, the only problem is my brain which thinks I should look 35 (spoiler: I don’t). I suspect that the Google Gawds of Algorithm (GGA) and AARP (together they makeup GGAAARP and doesn’t that just roll of your tongue) have joined forces to send every ad for modern day snake oil my way.

Women over 40 know what I’m talking about, the ads are relentless. I still go on Facebook and my demographic gets the same ads on a constant loop. Now some of these products are probably good, in fact I can vouch for Rothy’s Shoes.

I happen to own three pairs and they are fabulous and slightly addictive. Now this is more than I typically spend on shoes and I don’t care, I like them that much. Super comfy and they are made from recycled bottles AND they’re cute as hell. I finally got myself a pair of leopard flats – I have wanted leopard flats for 10 years!

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Other products have me more skeptical. Those jeans that come in three size ranges, are you kidding me? If I lined up 10 of my closest female friends there would be at least seven different size categories – short/tall, thick/thin and every combination in between, I laugh at your three sizes.

The magic eye cream that promises to shrink your under eye bags. First of all, f*ck off. Seriously f*ck all the way off with your lies. I haven’t clicked on that infomercial yet because this is a particular sore spot for me. I suspect the jars go for about $3billion each because eye of newt and unicorn blood is really flippan’ expensive. Hard pass, full stop.

Which brings us back to the mystery featured photo. Big reveal (insert drum roll……..still drumming……….little more drumming……damn my imaginary drumming arms are tired). I present to you the –

Ultrasonic Cavitat RF Fat & Cellulite Remover

Yes friends for the mere cost of $99.99 which is a never been seen before fabulous discounted price to end all discounts, the mother of ALL discounts. For under $100. you can “invest in yourself” and rid your self of fat and cellulite (& $99.99). It also cleans your house, picks up your dog’s poop and if you’re single, it’ll find your soul mate. Your SOUL MATE! The only thing it can NOT do is make middle school car line more manageable because that mess is unfixable. Oh and it won’t cook dinner either so basically, useless.