Age Is a State of Mind

When I first started writing romance in the mid-eighties, I was pretty close to the age of my characters. About two decades have passed since then, and in my mind, I'm still close to the age of my characters.

I won't reveal my age here, but suffice it to say I'm what one considers a Baby Boomer. Well, if we want to get technical, Delia is only about a year old, having been born over a pitcher of sangria at the Mellow Mushroom, but that's another story.

Anyway, to write about people in their twenties and thirties, you need to know people in their twenties and thirties. I have two of them living in my house (for another week? maybe less? One can hope). That recent four-month prison sentence - I mean JOB - at an upscale department store comes in handy as well. I loved the young people I met working there. They helped me to remember that attitudes are different. That clothes are different was obvious.

So this morning, I was brushing my teeth, wearing my Buccaneers Super Bowl tee shirt. Looking in the mirror, I was thinking it was number twenty-seven. It startled me to realize the number was THIRTY-seven. Did I just lose ten years? Or is it that it seems impossible for an event to be that high in number when I remember the first one?

How is it that things I remember happening and reporting on in eighth grade civics class are now in high school history books? Have you ever been to the wedding of someone whose diaper you have changed? Do you remember when you dialed a telephone?

I'm old, I'm afraid. Seriously old.

And that may be the reason I asked for contact lenses when I went to the eye doctor yesterday. I never wore glasses in my life until two years ago. I hate them. No, I more than hate them. I loathe them. I despise them. I spit on their mother's.....wait, I'm getting carried away.

Yes, it was vanity, pure and simple. I asked for contact lenses because I don't want to look old. And I write about younger people because it helps me feel younger. In my head, I am my heroine, at least for the duration of writing her book.

Okay, excuse me now. I'm going back to the world where my bazooms are perky and my arms do not jiggle.

Have a great day!
Delia