Today riding in the metro, I saw a woman in her sixties wearing a hat, and I said to myself, “does she know she’s wearing such an ugly hat, a hat that is way too young for her?” I mean, does she really think this hat is going to make her the girl she might have been 30 or 40 years ago? Combined with the hat, she wore a skirt that would look good on the corner hooker. I kind of felt sorry for her as she casually looked around. I could see her looking through lowered eyes at young men who could be the same age as her sons if she had any. I tried to imagine her face without all the wrinkles that the extravagant makeup failed to hide, and I could almost see the young woman of twenty she must have been. Age has nothing to do with it: there are women in their seventies who look very attractive and confident, but this woman, she is trying too hard to hold on to something that is long gone.
I would have liked to stand up and take her hand and say “It’s alright getting older, as long as you do it with grace and pride for your accomplishments and for the life you have lived.” I would have liked to invite her for a drink. Unfortunately, I was not brave or crass enough to do so. I wonder what happened in her life that she cannot accept the slow, yet inevitable, passage to the place we must all reach. Then again, who the hell am I to judge.
