Being the Joneses

I am old enough now that I no longer hop gingerly from the bed, crank up the music, and dance around my morning routine.  I now must rock back and forth to leverage myself up from the mattress, not unlike a turtle trying to right itself, praying to god that cracking sound is a normal response.  Once accomplished, I make the bed (it really does help the room look tidy no matter what may lay on the floor) and amble to the shower, then my whole physical 'fix up' begins.  And it doesn't matter the time I choose to grace the day with my presence, either.  I still do not have the capacity to burst from the sheets first thing any longer.

Reflection of my youth reveals a time when I could take 45 minutes from wake to walk-out, impressively put together for the day ahead of me.  At this stage in my life, I can take 45 minutes to remember what the hell I walked in the bathroom for in the first place.

Now, it's hair appointments to hide the gray, make-up techniques to open the eyes, botox considerations to remove the wrinkles and hours at the gym to "regain what's been lost" instead of "maintain what's been given".  It's slippers at the end of the day to relieve the aching feet from the heels I've stuffed them in and a reconsideration before choosing the shorter skirt or lower neckline.  Class is now defined by leather and smooth instead of louder and fast.  Elegance is embraced where rebellion once reigned and subtle-sexy is the new 'in' thing.

So, why do I do all this?  Why bother when it just gets more difficult to achieve, things take longer and require a little something 'extra'?  Because I am the Joneses.  And so are you.  Those of us who have weathered the storm of our teens, beaten the odds (and oddities) of our twenties and even seen clear of our thirties.  We now see something we want, we get it and we earn it.  We wear what we want and we wear it well.  Even those styles that make our audience raise an eyebrow or share a surprise glance.

C'mon, you must admit - the Walmartian donning the too-tight spandex and brazenly blue eyelids may scare you a bit, but it somehow fits her overall image...

So, roll out of bed and pray you don't miss the landing.  Grunt or expel some strange sound with every move you make.  Forget where you put the keys in your right hand.  Refuse to speak to anyone, even by phone or email, until you have had a pot of caffiene.  Open the garage door four times before you realize the trash can is already back in it's spot.  Neighbors be damned.  Because you are the Joneses and you're setting the bar (just make sure that it's set high enough that the rest of us can safely limbo underneath it if we no longer can clear it with a high-jump).