My mom is red hot. Your mom ain’t diddly squat.
Every day, I look at my reflection and think, I remember that girl’s younger sister. Every day, I see small little changes. Laugh lines that aren’t funny. Freckles that have turned to the dark side.
Every day I look at my mom and wonder how the hey she’s aging in reverse while I’m speeding light years ahead.
Why is she rolling up her shorts, while I won’t even wear a pair?
How does she go to the gym every day, play tennis and go dancing at night, while I’m exhausted just running away from my children?
I honestly don’t know if there’s ever been a 65-year-old woman so…cute.
Even as she registered herself for Medicare, the woman behind the counter, probably 20 years her junior, gushed, “Stop it! You’re not 65 years old! You’re just the cutest thing.”
My mother smiled coyly and showed her license. Yeah, she’s sexy, too.
Having an adorable, sexy mom is not an easy thing for a girl starting middle age. Okay, fine, it wasn’t easy for a girl starting high school, either.
Everywhere we go, people are always assuming we’re sisters. That would be fine if I could at least be the hot one, but it’s no guarantee. Because while I may be younger, she’s still MaryAnn with a side of Ginger from Gilligan’s Island, and I’m, uh, the Professor? It’s just how it is.
Still, she continues to try to ‘hotten’ me up.
For as long as I can remember, she’s been unbuttoning my blouse to show off a little more, reminding me to put on lipstick and fixing my hair.
I, of course, decided to never wear lipstick, or brush my hair, and for a while took to wearing large prairie dresses. I still kind of like them. Sue me.
She brings me white strips for my teeth every three months and sexy low-cut tops to wear going out.
She is no longer allowed near me with a tweezer.
Not too long ago, she took one of her pretty manicured nails and pointed at the crease between my brows. “I can have that fixed,” she said with the cutest giggle.
“Mom!” I said, a little too defensively, gnawing on an unpolished nail, “Maybe I don’t want to be fixed.”
She giggled again. “Okay. You let me know.”
Sigh. I will.
Because even though I naturally try to resist her wily ways, her hotness is a blessing. It makes me try a little harder. Run a little farther. Without her, my teeth wouldn’t be as gleaming. and my cleavage would never come out to say hi.
So today, I honor my forever young mom who’s helping me to age the best I can.
— Alisa Schindler
Alisa Schindler is freelance writer who chronicles the sweet and bittersweet of life in the suburbs on her highly entertaining blog www.icescreammama.com. Her essays have been featured on Mamapedia.com and Bonbonbreak.com as well as in the book, Life Well Blogged. She is a member of “Yeah Write,” an online community for writers, where she has won the Jury Prize multiple times in the group’s weekly essay writing contest. She has just completed her first novel that she feels comfortable showing to someone other than her mother.