What shall I do with this absurdity –
O heart, O troubled heart – this caricature,
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
As to a dog’s tail?
No, you’re not only as young as you feel. Six decades of strutting and fretting put an aesthetic hurting on you. Cf. Ginger Rogers, her golden tresses flowing over the cottage cheese of her cleavage in her latter years. Thinking you’re still glamorous doesn’t necessarily make it so.
Shall I Wear My Trousers Rolled?
Listening to Sandy Denny as you gaze into an indiscrete flourescent-lit mirror as you prepare for a young couple’s first wedding can make you feel past your prime, which, of course, you are if the bride is a younger childhood friend’s 26-year-old daughter. Nevertheless, you try to look as cool as possible; I-and-I, for example, choose a white linen suit that screams I’m-from-Charleston and/or Colonel Sanders has come back to life in a pale approximation of Tom Wolfe.
The plumage ruffling manifests itself right up there near the top of the ladder of years – the grandparents, great aunts and uncles, etc. at this wedding decked out in resort casual: Korean Conflict veterans promenading the hotel lobby sporting Polynesian flowered prints on what used to be called polyester, their wives strutting around in britches that a half-century ago went by the name of clamdiggers but that are now marketed as capri pants.
E.O Wilson and Richard Hawkins agree: projecting attractiveness is s a biological imperative, hard-wired into our brains, a hard habit to forego.
A Qualified Yes to Trouser Rolling
Okay, to echo the Tams, be old, be foolish, but be happy.
Who cares if you gross out the youngsters? If they’re lucky enough, their turn’s a-coming.
On the other hand, I suspect that a certain perspective and awareness of your body’s transformations might hold you in good stead as you tone down rage-ing, rage-ing against that good night to merely flipping it off.
In that case, I suggest we forego the comb-over and cover up the cottage cheese.