What Is It About Me

I ask my husband if I look very old,
Nice guy that he is his answer is bold,
“You’re the girl that I married in one nine six o,
And you don’t look a day older than those many years ago.”

But me, I’m smart and know he’s lying,
Things happen, which is why I’m just not buying.

Take yesterday for example my dear friends,
I was spiffed and buffed from end to ends.
Every gray hair was stylishly in place,
Makeup concealed the wrinkly face,
My pure golden earrings dangled with grace,
A tasteful chic chain and my neck was embraced.

I looked in the mirror and saw twenty one,
Getting set for a day of summery fun,
My clothing was trendy with shoes high and tall,
My mirror said, you are the fairest of all.

And so we embarked to a fashionable place,
For a dinner in a really upscale space,
Up turned out to be down numerous steps,
I’d have to brave them with arthritic aching legs,
But me, I’m a soldier known to be brave,
And I looked at the steps with nary a wave,
Until the maitre’d took one look that made me unhinged,
And uttered a phrase that was horribly singed,
To no one special of our little cluster of pairs,
He asked if “she”, meaning me, could manage the stairs?
Me, with my still dangling earrings and every hair in place,
I put a nasty frown on my unwrinkled face,
And forced myself down to the dining room below,
Reeling from yet another very low blow!

It seems this is something that always happens to me,
I think I look good and people think I’m a hundred and three,
They get up to give me seats on a train,
And, cowardly, I take the blasted seat and try to explain,
I sprained my leg playing basketball,
Or I twisted my back training for a marathon.
They think I’m just a senile old lady,
A savta married to a zaydy!
Could it be that they’re actually right,
And that my life has already reached its night?
So soon dear friends. So very soon.
Yesterday I was dancing to a rousing tune.
Now people speak around me,
I’m standing there and yet they still don’t see.

Oy vay oy vay oy vay is mere,
Disappearing is a constant fear.
Trapped in this ancient body of mine,
Is the young girl who could always find a rime,
Where did she go this pretty young thing called Ro,
She’s still here is what she wants all to know!.

About the Author
Rosanne Skopp is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of fourteen, and great-grandmother of one. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and travels back and forth between homes in New Jersey and Israel. She is currently writing a family history.
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