Age before beauty.

Not first, not last, but stuck in the middle.

The door was held wide open and I stood there, pausing mid-stride, contemplating deeply (far too deeply, I know, since I was stopping traffic) whether I should accept the invitation to step first.

If it was a joke, I wasn’t laughing. Was it that apparent I was older than my doorman? Truth be told, I felt like 108 but did I look it, too? 

I know, I know — I shouldn’t be so sensitive but — but — that’s the way I am.

I know a gentleman is supposed to open the door — it’s just that it’s become such a rarity nowadays. When it does happens, I’m caught off guard.

Ladies first. That, I know how to respond to. The “age before beauty” line left me in the lurch.

Should I stay or should I go now?

Hurry up, we’re all waiting!

I know, I know, as a kid we all want to be first — first in line, first  to choose, first to finish. Now — I’ll take my time, thank you.

Grow old gracefully — nice concept, I suppose. I’d rather just be graceful.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That’s like when your blind date has “lots of personality.”

So why are those three little words — age before beauty — so annoying, so troubling, so painful.

My grandmother would have said she’s earned it. After 97 years, she certainly had.

My aching back was reminding me that I needed more than just beauty sleep. I needed —

Oh, quit your complaining. That’s what Grandma would have said.

Stop whining, that’s what my Dad would suggest.

Hurry up and make up your head, my husband might say.

Okay, okay, the door’s open so I’ll walk through. I might be old, I might not be beautiful but it’s too cold to stand here any longer and ponder the matter.

Just move it or lose it.

I’m going to blame my mental doldrums on the weather — too much wind, too much cold.

What’s a woman to do??

Laugh, that’s what my friend would say.

If you can’t laugh at life — and yourself — you’re done for.

She’s right, I know. She usually is.

I’m chuckling as I type.