Yesterday my mom took me to the grocery store, as she does most Saturdays. When I got in the car, the music was uncharacteristically loud, and Lionel Richie’s”Lady” was playing. I of course got into groove mode and started singing at the top of my lungs and rhythmically swaying in my seat.
“Jenny, you should listen to this station! It’s Lite FM! They play a lot of stuff you would love!”
I scoffed. Lite FM. Sure, I could get down with some Lionel, but I listened to WXRT, which is Chicago’s best station. It plays a wide variety of rock, “alternative”, and indie.
Still, we listened on, and I… I liked it. They played “True Colors” by Cyndi Lauper. I can’t argue with that. They played a lot of songs I remembered and liked. I knew all the words to every damned song I heard.
I have no problem admitting that I’ve gotten older. I’m 46 – and don’t you fucking dare say that I’m OLD, I’m not OLD, I’m OLDER; I have an almost-22-year-old daughter, and I’ve been through some shit. I realize that I’m no longer 23 with a hot body, and I’m ok with that for the most part. (Most of the time. I have my days.)
Still, hearing some stone cold jams that I really loved on Lite FM really fucked me up. Was I going to start wearing sensible shoes, too? Or get myself a shiny tracksuit and a sun visor? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHEN WOULD MY PREMATURE AGING PROCESS END??
I came home, looked down at my super-high-waisted mom jeans, and sighed. It’s inevitable. You’re going to see me in a floral sweatshirt shopping for Linda Ronstadt records.
Please be kind.