Member-only story
Aging Gracelessly
Age Inappropriate
What I really need is a prescription for eternal youth
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Decades ago, as a freshly minted M.D., I walked into a patient’s room and was asked, “What high school do you attend, honey?” I had been mistaken for what used to be called a candy striper. One p. I thought I’d miss hearing that kind of comment about as much as I’d miss hearing “Ice Ice Baby” on the radio.
I am now what I once thought of as, like, really old. Grandmother old. And not a GMILF. The offhand comments of “you look too young to be a doctor” became increasingly infrequent, echoing the rhythm of my perimenopausal periods. But unlike those last rallies of my failing ovaries, I could actually enjoy these even while wearing white.
Looking older crept up on me until it finally pounced. I remember the exact moment I could no longer deny my faded youth. I had gotten my long locks shorn into a Lisa Rinna shag. I thought I looked bangin’. Until a “friend” laid that fantasy to rest, remarking, “Such a cute, age-appropriate haircut.”
There are no more devastating words than age-appropriate. It means you were discussed at the book club you missed while napping.
