Being Exposed

 

Decolletage. Such a lovely sounding word. Elizabeth Taylor brought attention to this area when wearing her spectacular diamond and emerald necklace on the night she accepted her Best Actress award for Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf. Everything from puka shells (you remember them, right?) to Hermes scarves have adorned this part of a woman's body. Fashion designers have reveled in creating necklines that accentuate a woman’s decolletage. Much to my dismay, I’ve recently discovered my décolletage has turned into a YECHolletage. Time, sun and exposure to the elements have resulted in creating an area full of freckles, spots and wrinkles. Given that summer is soon to arrive, I give praise to the genius who came up with the sleeveless turtleneck!

Going Incognito

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Jill and I am 49 years old.” I ask you, is there anything wrong with being who people presume you to be?

I know a teacher at school who, no matter how many times I've reminded him what my real name is, continues to call me “Jill”. I’ve been called Susan many times (hey, it’s close) and occasionally Sarah - but JILL?! Most people rarely use your name when greeting you. They’ll say, “Hey, how’s it goin’?” or “What’s up?” This guy makes a point of saying the name he’s convinced I was born with in every sentence he utters. “Hey, Jill! How’s it going, Jill? You planning anything fun this weekend, Jill? Are you getting together with your family, Jill?”. He reinforces my name in his brain as if he is branding it with a searing hot iron to make sure he never forgets it. Even my family doesn’t use my name that often when speaking with me. I have since experienced the seven stages of grief with this guy and currently I am at the final one – acceptance (that he’ll never remember my real name) and hope (that others don't hear him and end up calling me “Jill” too). Did I mention he’s going to be the Vice Principal next year? I kid you not.

Moving right along, it is an ongoing fascination for high school kids to guess how ancient adults can be. During a recent interrogating conversation of "How old ARE you?!", I asked them, “How old do I look?” They of course responded with another question. “Are you between 45 and 50?” I answered the way any respectable person over the age of 50 would, “Yes!” Now they had a decision to make. Guesses of 46 and 48 were bantered about and finally Giovanni, with great conviction I might add, said “49!” I believe he chose this number because anything past 35 is OLD so 49 was next to death. I responded incredulously, “Giovanni!”  as I was actually thrilled I was being perceived as younger than 50. He took my reply to mean that he was correct. At that point they all started saying, “Oh, Ms. Griffin!! That’s it, isn’t it? We knew it!” I did not dissuade them from their expert sleuthing beliefs. I had to hand it to them, at least they knew my name!

A Message From the President

Happy Mother's Day to all you "bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan" moms out there! I thought I'd do something a tad different this week and instead of writing an entry, I thought I'd post this video. I absolutely love it. And yes, your eyes do not deceive you - I posted a day early 'cause I'm a super-awesome, overly efficient mom (well, sometimes...). Enjoy!!

A Debit to Society

I know, I’m showing my age when I think about the “good ol’ days” but on certain occasions I tend to reminisce to simpler times.  Remember when someone pulled out their check book and you rolled your eyes because it was such a hassle? They had to pull out a pen, fill out the check and then show their I.D. Of course you were behind the person who was taking forever to pay and of course you decided to buy ice cream that day…and it was melting because their purchase was taking so long. With a debit card it was just a quick slide and out the door you went.

Nowadays it takes me an hour just to get past the register if I use a debit card. “Are you a member of our store?” If you answer “yes” tack on five minutes scrambling to find their card somewhere buried in your black-hole purse or racking your brain trying to remembering that stupid number they assigned you (note: the number is stupid, not you). If you decide to pay by debit card tack on extra 10 minutes of punching "this and that" before you get your receipt: verify you are using a debit card, punch in your “secret” pin number, verify whether or not you do or don’t you want extra cash, verify the amount charged is correct, verify you agree to pay this amount and finally, verify your grandmother’s middle name is “Mamie”. Ok, I added that last bit but it wouldn’t surprise me if that showed up some day. Sheesh! Weren’t these newfangled (that’s right, I used the word “newfangled”!) improvements supposed to make our lives easier and the process quicker? It makes a person long for the days of that super-simple ol’ school method of carrying around cash.