Mutton Dressed as Lamb
On February 5, 2019 by Speranza
Many years ago now I was at a party with Some Other Parents and as the evening and wine progressed, one mother leaned in to me and nodded in the direction of the living room. There, a definitely attractive mum had decided to stand on a chair and dance in a manner usually associated with a pole. She was also singing in a Marilyn-infused whisper to whatever was playing at the time. (Alright, it was Meatloaf’s Paradise by the Dashboard Light, gack …) She was just on the cusp of that age where she could basically still get away with it, her body being firm, her hair artfully tousled and highlighted, full lips a shiny bubblegum pink.
But as the person next to me drily observed, “The guys are loving this – but if I stood on a chair? People would just laugh.”
And she was right.
I don’t know why I have never forgotten this story. It’s true that I would never stand and undulate on a chair myself even in my own home – and maybe this woman’s confidence, chutzpah just differs from my own. (Or good taste depending on how catty one is feeling …)
I have long maintained intense surveillance for possible slips that could make me seem as though I am trying too hard. I avoid lingo that has long since perished like “wicked!” or “noice!” or “zup?” even in an ironic way. I never bragged to other parents about knowing what POS means. And if I ever called The General ‘Bae‘ he would quite rightly be alarmed. Finally, I like to think that I have a highly evolved sense of avoiding what my not-so-distant ancestors darkly dismissed as a “bit of mutton dressed as lamb.”
And if all of this sounds smug, just wait.
I was recently humbled when attending a long dreamed-of dance class (Bollywood, since you ask, no poles here) and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was horrified to note that unlike the twenty somethings in the front row, (pony tails swishing back and forth, faux-Asian bangles jingling) my own moves were closer to Betty White than Beyoncé. And this was devastating. I was so, so upset. Ashamed.
I never went back.
I’m sure the motto is to not care what anyone thinks and do as I like – but I am not there yet and not sure I ever will be.
Until then, here’s another kind of dancing in a cage …
Hey, you’re ahead of me. I don’t know what POS and Bae mean. Please enlighten me, o tiny dancer.
Okay, so I am a bit disappointed because by the title of this new article, as I was expecting another wonderful recipe. Now I have 5 lbs of mutton to deal with. Anyway,the behavior you describe, falls under the category of ‘neotony’, whereas the adult of a species retains many of the characteristics of the immature juvenile. I have a few acquaintances, (can’t really regard as friends anymore) who, at the age of twenty something, managed employment in a position they either didn’t like or didn’t care about, or both. Weekends were spent getting pissed up in a local bar. Fine, but 40 years on, still hold the shitty job they continue to dislike or don’t care about, or both, and get pissed up every weekend. Trolling The Roadhouse most weekends would validate my premise.
Interesting take – and, I feel baaaad about that mutton haha!
I once danced on a table … many years ago at the Christmas party of an organization you may be familiar with. I was very very young. Now I get dizzy stepping into the shower. The only dancing events I attend these days have the word “seniors” prominently displayed somewhere … and they take place during the day, the goal being to keep the old heart still beating. And no mint sauce in sight!
I refuse to think of you as a senior – newly minted or otherwise!