So I’m a seventh grader now

Outdated? 3-1-1 signage at RDU
Image by bosconet via Flickr

This past weekend I took a lot of time getting ready for the Blissdom conference. I laid out my clothes and carry-on goodies and started packing.

*Reminder Jen: write  TSA a scathing letter on how biased they are on their liquid regulations.*

My husband used to travel weekly and had NO problem with TSA’s 3-1-1 rule, but as a woman I am finding it VERY difficult! Then again I’m thinking it might be an age thing.

J: “Uhm, babe? You still packing?”

Me: “YES! Am I being timed?!” [sweet as always]

J: “Heh…remember when we used to fly off for the weekend and it would take you like 15 minutes and we were off?!”


Me:”Yea, and I was 20-something without a care in the world!”

Then it hit me. I’m packing-repacking-packing-packing-repa… because I have to do so much more to my face and body. My body can’t figure out if it wants to be fit or just be comfy flopping all inside my yoga pants. And my face…Oy! I’ve got lotions that tighten, lotions that plump, and lotions that fill, tighten and plump. And they have to be used all at the same time. I’m sure I’m burning thousands of calories just putting on that crap! How am I going to look like a 20-something if I can’t fit all these miracle-producing beauty products in my quart-sized ziplock bag??

Then I open up an older More magazine. Hmmm? Oh what? You young whippersnappers don’t know about the Beauty magazine for mid-lifers (ok, mostly they’re talking to late 40+s, but I’m all ears.)? Lesley Jane Seymour is a hilarious writer and is the Editor-in-Chief for More. She talks about how Midlife is the New Seventh Grade. She says:

“It’s the second time in our lives when physical, hormonal and emotional change is so dramatic that people can actually read it on our faces.”

Oh, sister…preach it.

I think it’s totally rational to allow women a 1-gallon ziplock bag. If a terrorist wants to bring some kind of explosive in with their beauty bag, they’re not going to quibble over ziplock bag sizes. Besides, everyone knows they just shove it down their pants.

One day, I will quit trying so hard to keep myself looking so young and will concentrate solely on being healthy. One day I will not care that my laugh lines make me look like a Sharpei, but will embrace the reminders of my many years of laughter. One day I will show off my full head of gray hair with pride but for now I will be the one being frisked by TSA for smuggling in my precious bottle of Hope in a Jay down my skivvies.

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