9 Essential Items for the Over 45 Set

9 Essential Items for the Over 45 Set

Listen up folks, I have had just about enough of every damned product on the market being aimed at people in their twenties. The entire retail world wants people under the age of thirty to buy their shit. Every freakin’ store is stocked to the tits with belly shirts and skater hats. It’s an ok look if you are 19, but a crashing failure to wear later in life. This youth bias makes no sense when the average 23-year-old is either in school or making my $6 coffee at the drive thru for minimum wage. They don’t have money. Neither do the people with young kids. Us vintage humans have the cash, so maybe start making stuff we want to buy? Clever inventors who want to own the 45 and over market, here’s your To Do List: Devise a solution for reader glasses that makes us look cool. Include a reminder beep in the frame that discretely lets me know the glasses I am hunting for are on my head. Sell me a full body compression garment with built-in pee holder. So when I’m in my party frock and drinking with my friends, I don’t have to think about leaky bits. Yo engineers, you invented 3D printers right? How about an automatic make up application machine? I am so damned tired of doing my whole face every morning for work. While you are at it, make a deluxe model that erases wrinkles. We would give you our firstborn for one of those. Make jeans that are flattering on Dad bods. We ladies like to bump uglies with the men in our demographic, so at least find a way to make their asses look like we might want to see those jeans on the floor. Because we don’t all have Michelle Obama-level guns, many of us who are “of an age” don’t want sleeveless clothing. So shopping for dresses becomes all about finding something that isn’t a flowered mu-mu but also has sleeves. Even little ones… because buying a beautiful sleeveless dress and then wearing the mandatory cover up “cute jacket” has become the peri-menopausal uniform. Shoes! For shit’s sake not all of us want to wear Birkenstocks and socks. If one more barely out-of-training-bras store clerk takes me over to the “sensible shoes” rack I may commit violence. I like to wear high heels, so do many of us. You know why we are sometimes forced to move to comfortable nurse shoes? It is because you assholes who make shoes don’t think we need arch support. A 110 pound 20-year-old can wear tippy shoes with rocks for insteps for her morning walk of shame, but I want to do...
Can we Talk About Men’s Socks and Underwear?

Can we Talk About Men’s Socks and Underwear?

When we live with a man it takes some time to get used to the not-woman stuff that comes with him. Beard scrapings in the sink, toilet seat wrongness, incorrect dishwasher loading and farts. So many farts. This piece is life advice for young women who choose the path of a domestic arrangement with a male human. Your mother may have had “the talk” with you, but I bet she didn’t tell you about the socks and underwear thing. She never mentioned how much real estate his socks and underwear would take up in your marriage. This goes way beyond drawer space allocation. There is the “socks on the floor” drama. I find them everywhere. Random sock removal from feet happens at our house, and now, following his example, my children do it too. Some days it looks like an evil trickster put a bunch of socks in the hands of a poltergeist who then used them to do the dance of 1000 socks in my house. The flung socks blanket every damned surface and are stuffed in every nook and cranny. I mean really – is there some legitimate reason there is a dirty sock hanging on the living room lampshade? Are you all just a bunch of sock monkeys climbing on shit and dropping them everywhere? (My family laughed at my tears, then offered me a sock to blow my nose.) Then there is the underwear and sock audit. Like most husbands, mine will wear a pair of gonch until they are more holes than fabric. The elastic droopily hangs around his Dad bod waistline, with a few frayed bits of fabric holding up what is left of the briefs. So not attractive, and frankly hardly up for the job of being underwear anymore. His socks are the same – no elasticity, big gnarly toes sticking out, and often the dog has had a go at them to boot. Some of them don’t technically qualify as socks anymore. They would be more identifiable as a sea anemone washed up rotting on the beach. The drama comes when I toss old underpants out while he is present for the funeral. He looks alarmed like I am killing his favourite hamster or something. “Those are still perfectly good and soft and I finally have them broken in!” he whines. And by “broken in” if he means ripped, stretched, stained and malformed, then yes, they are broken in. I now just throw them out when he isn’t around, and put other acceptable garbage over top so he doesn’t see them and pull them back out (Yes, that has happened… ) Then there is the whole fashion issue around socks. When...