Middle age crazy

Okay peeps. This has been weighing heavy on my mind for quite a while so it’s time to address the issue: how do I balance trying to be a good Southern woman by going to church and doing what’s right with my terribly bawdy and sometimes twisted sense of humor? I mean, I honestly do like going to service on Sat. night but then I feel guilty as sin if I laugh at a dirty joke or watch too much Bill Maher. If that ain’t enough for ya, I do try to behave and curtail my potty mouth but I have to admit, when I get angry or agitated, I let ‘er fly full speed ahead. Now how in Sam Hill (he was a real person, by the way) can I call myself a decent, church-going Southern woman if I act like that? I’ll tell you how…middle age crazy.

Call it whatever you want but there’s one thing I figured out: by the time a woman gets to her mid-forties (that would be me) she’s seen and done so much, raised the kids (and sometimes, the husband too), worn the same bra enough years and put herself last long enough that she’s ready to say to the world “Now wait just a cotton pickin’ minute! I’ve done my job and then some. I’m gonna have my say and if you don’t like it, well then you’ll just get glad in the same pants you got mad in.”  It’s less about being rude and more about the validation and recognition for services rendered for one’s family, albeit happily offered services.

See, I always thought you had to be all the way Godly or all the way not. There was no in-between; no gray area. The internal struggle with me is this: I love to laugh and just happen to have my father’s dirty sense of humor. But, like my mother, I have an enormous amount of Faith because I have to have something to keep me centered and a firm belief to hang onto when life gets out of hand. (well, that and it’s against the law to walk up to folks and smack ’em upside the head. when they act like idiots so a fellowship hall is  better than a jail cell any old day) I can’t tell you how many nights I’d rest my head on the pillow and then wonder about what would happen to me when Judgement Day comes. What would St. Peter say?? What would God say?? Will my son have to suffer for my ambivalence??  He’ll probably have his own suffering to do because his sense of humor is just like mine. In grade school, it was called quirky. These days…well. Let’s just say it’s ‘evolved’ and leave it at that.

At any rate, this ongoing internal struggle/cranial verbal exchange has been plaguing me for quite some time, as I said. (not as long as the hail damage on my thighs but that is a horse of another story, so let’s keep it movin’) My friends,  I’ve decided that even though someone already died for my sins and would probably not be happy if I maintained the sinful love of dirty jokes, I can’t change who I am. Humor has gotten me through so many rough patches in my life but then, so has God. And if walking that fine line causes me a little discomfort after leaving my Earthly plane, I guess I’ll have to suck it up and deal. For once in my life, I like the person on the inside so if it means I get to the Pearly Gates and have to fist bump St. Peter with a “Dude, I’m sorry. Catch ya later. Peace-out!” then so be it.

Live, laugh, love. That’s how we muddle through on a daily. At least that’s what I believe. We only have this one chance so we need to make sure we get it as right and stay as true to ourselves as possible. If that means people on the street look at me and say “Oy! What a meshugeneh!”, then I’ll wear the badge proudly. Hey, I can always play the low estrogen card. Just sayin’…

Until next time….

  & hair grease, y’all!!

 

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. kathie Truitt
    Feb 19, 2012 @ 19:57:04

    Let me think…Dolly Parton comes to mind! And I don’t think anyone would think she is anything less than a southern lady.

    Reply

  2. randomlady65
    Feb 20, 2012 @ 12:03:20

    LOL!! You always know how to put things in perspective. Thanks Kath!!

    Reply

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