In The Pink

Gotta hand it to The Big Guy. He still thinks I'm the 27-year-old 100-pound slip of a girl he married. He loves to buy me stuff from Victoria's Secret. For my birthday, he brought home a sweatshirt and sweatpants outfit. They're modern-day lounging pajammas - I don't think anyone would wear them in public. Not sure these days, though. Naturally, they come with a plunging neckline but everything else is pretty standard - fleece, hooded, warm and cozy.

Almost everything. It's pink. Hot pink. Middle-of-a-steak pink. It comes with a silver-studded backside, spelling out the word (who woulda guessed?) "Pink." So while some folks are suffering from pink-eye, I'm flashing pink-ass. A studded dog design graces the upper-left chest, like some sort of logo. Schlemiel, schlimazel, hasenpfeffer incorporated! Sign me up for the Laverne & Shirley reunion show.

I suppose this all looks cute on those 27-something waifs. I'm sure it's fine for around the house. Both The Big Guy and Cat think I look great in it. The boys gagged and told me I couldn't wear it when it's their turn to host poker night. I guess those nights I'll pull out those black leather pants they absolutely adore on me.

Happy Birthday Me

Okay, today's my birthday. I'm still too young for AARP and early bird dinners but too old for babies (I think).

Why is it that as we get older, younger people like to treat us a like contestants in David Letterman's Stupid Pet Trick?

A photo in my local paper showed an elderly woman in a wheelchair with another woman holding a mike to her mouth. It was a publicity shot from a retirement home's Christmas Caroling party. And what notable Christmas tune did the party organizers have this 101-year-old woman belt out, just because she could?

"One Day At A Time."