Skip to main content

Not So Golden Girl

Several years ago, when our children were firmly footed in childhood (not babyhood, toddler-hood or preschool-hood), I started receiving ads and coupons from Target.

Ads for diapers. Bottles. Baby clothes.

My husband looked at me, in my mid-30s and so done with baby things, and raised an eyebrow. "Is there something I need to know?"

Like a teen caught with alcohol in her closet, I shook my head. "No! No! I have NO IDEA why they are sending me diaper ads!"

Those aren't even mine! I'm just holding them for a friend!

I'm sure I fit whatever box Target thought made a new mother: In my 30s, in the 'burbs, shops at Target. Needless to say, Target didn't realize I'm not typical: I started having babies much younger than most people and now, in my 30s, I have a teen and a tween, thankyouverymuch.

I know that my purchases and everything else is tracked. It bothers the ever living hell out of me, but I know this. The people at Amazon could probably look at my shopping history and figure me out quickly.

I get it.

But...recently. I opened up an email from the website Her Room (basically a bra/underwear type place) to see something I wasn't ready for:

Grandma pajamas.

This is a website that has bras, panties, swimwear, shape-wear and "sexy lingerie."

They send me a link for bed jackets (which is filed up under "other sleepwear"). Bed jackets are basically jackets for sleeping. They look like jackets, they just are in a pajama material.

I thought to myself that this looked like Carol Brady (Brady Bunch) pajamas. No, says Google. She wore slightly more sexy PJs.

Apparently, in the world of Spanx, shapewear, people Photoshopping themselves to death on Instagram, being a normal person wearing normal undergarments (functional, thanks, yeah, I know) makes me geriatric.

You know what? Fine. The Golden Girls are back with a vengeance these days. I've actually watched many episodes. They are much more risque than I remembered during my original viewing in the 80s and early 90s.

At 38, you want to pin me into being old? Fine. If you're gonna make me be a Golden Girl, I choose Blanche. (Well, with a little bit of Dorothy, Sophia and Rose mixed in.)

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Royal Wedding

Once upon a time (okay, several times upon a time), we were invited to a wedding. I threw on my trusty dress I wore for anything that required even somewhat nice clothing and hopped in the car. I have no idea if I did my hair or makeup. I do remember, however, having to stop at the store on the way to the wedding so I could frantically shop for a pair of shoes to wear. This wasn't a last-minute gig; why did I wait so long? I don't know, but running up and down the aisles of Marshall's, looking for something that 1. I could afford 2. that matched and 3. fit really put a damper on the whole afternoon. Let's not forget the wedding we went to where I was newly postpartum with my second child. I wore a pair of ill-fitting pants and a sweater that did not do me any favors. Or the other wedding where I was still nursing but wore a dress that had to be zipped down to get to the goods. The last wedding I attended was 6 or 7 years ago (I believe). I wore a frumpy green dr...
Post a Comment
Read more

Mountain, meet molehill

Back when I was pregnant with my daughter (14 years ago), I had this huge fear of needles. Who am I kidding; I still do. I am (and was) deathly afraid of needles. Now I put on my Big Lady Pants and go to the doctor, dutifully hold out my arm and wish them "good luck." Of course, every single person-whose-job-it-is-to-draw-blood swears she is "good" and will get it "first try." And, of course, there's three or four tries, muttering, conferring with other nurses and rolled veins before they tell me to head over to the drop-by blood lab to let those ladies (who never seem to have a sense of humor) jab me with a needle. I'll tell you this: Those no-humor ladies surely can jab. It might take one or two tries of dealing with my rolling veins, but they get it. Anyway, I used to build up blood drawing in my head so much that my husband would take off work to escort me to the doctor to calm me down. I always made it worse by panicking and having swe...
Post a Comment
Read more

Just Like Dexter, But With More Pictures of Kittens

Earlier this school year (as a parent, I no longer think in "calendar" years; I think of a year as August-May.), one of my children needed a shark tooth removed. Shark teeth are basically when the adult tooth grows up next to the baby tooth and the baby tooth does not fall out. They are extremely common in this household. Some people deal with earaches and colds; we have shark teeth. (Fun fact: I hardly ever have had to help with the removal of loose teeth. Dentists have to remove them for us all the time.) Our children's dentist has odd hours for shark tooth removal: school hours. There's a hierarchy of pain + suffering that I consider when it involves missing school. I am not a "sure you can miss today" Mom. We do NOT leave to go on vacation. Therefore, being of the mean parent variety, I insisted my child not miss half a day of school to remove a tooth. So, I brought the child to my dentist. I really like my dentist's office. My kids are now...
Post a Comment
Read more