Little Triggers

When I was 35 I distinctly remember believing – and I mean actually believing – that I was likely not going to age much more. It’s this kind of absolute conviction that allowed me to continue to wear those band t-shirts (Elvis Costello, The Clash, The Pretenders) possibly longer than I should have and to separate myself from those around me who may have already succumbed to floppy gym pants and soccer-mom haircuts. (These are always touted as ‘wash and wear’ but the truth is, if you’re not careful the whole family will end up with basically the very same do …)

And yet this would not be me and nor would I lose my urban edginess, not with a single strip of leather bracelet, the possibility of a nose piercing presenting itself every now and then and of course I also had a perfect husband – handsome, well kept, often sporting designer stubble and a quirky, tweed scarf when the weather turned chilly. There was a spanking new Subaru in the driveway. We also had two big dogs and a red wagon to pull our children along through crisp leaves in the soft, golden glow of autumn.

But lo, the day came that I stood in the archway of a Le Chateau store with one of my boys in a stroller (I was still jazzed from the purchase of a trendy new lipstick colour only minutes earlier) and two teenage girls paused to give me the full weight of their disdainful stare from beneath heavily lined sooty eyelashes. The exchange of looks was not lost on me and nor was the subsequent lengthy smirk. And this kind of thing is primal – I felt like an unwanted, elder hyena about to be driven out. My cheeks burned. I felt any remaining chutzpah pooling down around my ankles.

And I would never go in that store again.

Looking back  I’m kind of grateful to those girls. Not because I was ever over-the-top (think: fringed Bon-Jovi tshirts with the little beads dancing on a big wedge of midriff no one wants to see) but because I never want to be a parody of myself – at any age.  Just to be clear I didn’t feel a sudden need to start dressing like my great Aunt Ida (wearing those knee socks with shorts is always going to be  horrifying at any age)  – but as my excellent friend The Oracle has pointed out “When I go shopping for clothes, I rarely see anything between Britney Spears and Barbara Bush!” And as always, she is absolutely correct. It’s super hard for The Mature Woman to get it right and retail makes it even harder.

It’s been years since  The-Day-at-Le-Chateau.  So many in fact that those very girls may themselves be in a similar position very soon …

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