My son will be turning 18 soon and will graduate from high school in June.  My daughter became a licensed driver today.

In short, now when I see that old, fat woman in the mirror wearing my clothes, I realize it is me.

It occurred to me why Estelle Getty recently died.  It is so I can become the new Golden Girl.  Watch out Bea Arthur, Rue McClanahan and Betty White.  I’m moving in so you’ve got someone new to make the rum cake.  I might even put the rum in the cake once or twice.

I am golden for so many reasons.  Every day brings me closer to my 50^th orbit around the sun and each year I change sizes approximately 50 times with the failure of about 50 diets.  I have about 50 mood swings every day and I hurt in about 50 places. 

I never eat less than 50 M & M’s at a time.

For many of us, the first time we think about the mortality of our parents is when they turn 50.  But with me, I still kind of think of them as that age so in just a few short years, I will be older than my mom and dad which is really quite the trick.

I am golden because as I age, I become more and more metallic.  At this pace, I will become a cyborg soon.  I will be leaving this Earth with less of my original parts than I started with and of the parts that die with me, many have been augmented in one way or another with manufactured substances.  I have told my children that when I die, I want them to donate every part of me possible: organs, eyes, blood, skin, hair, bone marrow, and to wrap up whatever is left in old newspaper and throw it in the trash.  However, if they choose to put my ashes in an urn, I believe I shall clink.

I am golden because as I get older, the focus of my physicians has become entranced with those parts of me that process waste.  You know how Oprah has her “Aha!” moments?  This is one of God’s “Ha Ha” moments.  He says, “You think you’re all studly and looking fine?  Well, I’m gonna make someone tell you to go in a cup.  And you will miss.  Hahahahahahahahahaha!  Yea, verily.”

I have had more indignities made upon my person by those wishing to study my means of disposal.  I don’t like it. 

I am also golden because I am shiny.  Even though I am from San Diego, my family has southern roots and I was told, from a very young age, to never use the word “sweat” when referring to myself or another person.  It was uncouth.  I was told:

-horses sweat,

-men perspire,

-women glow.

Well, folks I just be glowing all the live long day.  It makes it easier to find me.  Yes, I am the one causing the rainbow. 

My internal thermostat has gone haywire to say the least.  I’m always glowing here and there except for when I am freezing.  I never know what to wear and what I do wear is usually fastened with Velcro. 

I never ask, “Is it hot (cold) in here or is it just me” because I know.  It’s just me.

But there are two ways I am not a Golden Girl.  For one, I have no gold.  I’m broke just like y’all and well, it’s just not very fun, is it?  It’s a drag having to think about it all the time and I sincerely hope things change soon for all of us.  I have hope that it will.

The second way I am not a Golden Girl is I’m not a girl.  Haven’t been since I was ten. Being a proud feminist, I know I am a Whoa-Man and I demand to be treated as such. 

So with my children passing milestone after milestone with increasing speed, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by the changes I’m going through. 

Still, no matter how old I get, I hope I can always remain the kind of person who can laugh daily, thinks dignity is overrated and finds endless entertainment in a can of whipped cream.