Middle-aged women should not get color-change nail color.
I mean, I knew it was color-change when I got it, but I didn't know the tips of my fingernails would turn black every time my hands get cold. The nail tech told me, but somehow my brain failed to compute what that actually meant. I needed a 20-year-old interpreter to make me understand.
I find that to be true of many things. When I'm in the checkout lane at Kohl's and I can't get my electronic coupon to open on my phone, I start looking for the nearest person under 30. I hand my phone to them, and in less than 20 seconds I have a usable coupon.
Selfies...another of those things. My friend's daughter said no one over 30 should be taking and posting selfies. My personal experience validates that theory. I don't take them and, if I did, I certainly wouldn't post them. They're downright scary!
And Facebook...is there a secret club somewhere that only admits people under the age of 30? A club that tells you important information like no one really uses the old Messenger any more, exactly what you're supposed to do when someone pokes you, and what it means when someone sends something to your inbox?
When did I get so far behind? Presumably sometime after age 30!
That's okay. I'm in my own secret club now. The one that knows from experience how to deal with relationship problems and boy problems. The one that knows how to behave in social situations; what to wear, what to say, and which fork to use for salad. I own a ticket to the club that enables me to enjoy being at home, to understand the value of money, and to appreciate the beauty of old friendships (even though I might use Facebook to maintain them). My ticket says, "Bearer entitled to feel comfortable in her own skin." That means if my prospective employer doesn't like the real me in a job interview, that's okay. The job apparently wasn't meant for me. If I go somewhere and I'm uncomfortable, I can get up and leave.
Surprisingly enough, the under-30's must occasionally look longingly through the windows of my club. When they have a relationship problem, or they don't know if to pursue another job, they end up in my office, door closed, tears streaming, looking for something I have that they don't...experiential advice. And that makes it all worthwhile. It takes all of us helping each other, doesn't it?
Diversity. It makes the world go round. Don't despair. We all have a place.
The key is to be happy in yours.
I mean, I knew it was color-change when I got it, but I didn't know the tips of my fingernails would turn black every time my hands get cold. The nail tech told me, but somehow my brain failed to compute what that actually meant. I needed a 20-year-old interpreter to make me understand.
I find that to be true of many things. When I'm in the checkout lane at Kohl's and I can't get my electronic coupon to open on my phone, I start looking for the nearest person under 30. I hand my phone to them, and in less than 20 seconds I have a usable coupon.
Selfies...another of those things. My friend's daughter said no one over 30 should be taking and posting selfies. My personal experience validates that theory. I don't take them and, if I did, I certainly wouldn't post them. They're downright scary!
And Facebook...is there a secret club somewhere that only admits people under the age of 30? A club that tells you important information like no one really uses the old Messenger any more, exactly what you're supposed to do when someone pokes you, and what it means when someone sends something to your inbox?
When did I get so far behind? Presumably sometime after age 30!
That's okay. I'm in my own secret club now. The one that knows from experience how to deal with relationship problems and boy problems. The one that knows how to behave in social situations; what to wear, what to say, and which fork to use for salad. I own a ticket to the club that enables me to enjoy being at home, to understand the value of money, and to appreciate the beauty of old friendships (even though I might use Facebook to maintain them). My ticket says, "Bearer entitled to feel comfortable in her own skin." That means if my prospective employer doesn't like the real me in a job interview, that's okay. The job apparently wasn't meant for me. If I go somewhere and I'm uncomfortable, I can get up and leave.
Surprisingly enough, the under-30's must occasionally look longingly through the windows of my club. When they have a relationship problem, or they don't know if to pursue another job, they end up in my office, door closed, tears streaming, looking for something I have that they don't...experiential advice. And that makes it all worthwhile. It takes all of us helping each other, doesn't it?
Diversity. It makes the world go round. Don't despair. We all have a place.
The key is to be happy in yours.
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