Welcome To 60. It’s The New 70!

Fixed income. Memory loss. What’s not to love?

Happy birthday girlfriend, and welcome to the club!

I know you’re not particularly excited about membership, but trust me, it has its merits. For starters, there’s–

Shit. What was I going to say?

Memory loss! How could I forget? That’s a biggie.   

Have your kids called you lately? When was the last time you shaved your legs or got laid? Who cares? You can’t remember so you can’t worry about it.

Of course, there’s still that pesky fixed income to fret about but – give yourself a sec.


It’s gone!

I’m telling you, this 60 stuff has its perks. And it’s certainly better than the alternative. I mean, the dead can’t drink wine, right?

I’m sorry, you don’t drink wine?

Excuse my peals of laughter. It took one of our recent arrivals less than 24-hours before we spied her scurrying from the supermarket with a jug of Chablis and a straw.

Being new to the It’s All Downhill From Here Decade, it’s natural to feel awful. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.

A couple of tips.

Never say things like, “in my day.” This is your day. It’s not a good one, but still. Suck it up, buttercup.

Maintain an air of mystery. Keep your medical problems, upcoming surgical procedures, and ridiculously long list of prescriptions to yourself. Unless you have something cool. Like the plague.

That shit’s a showstopper.

If anyone asks how old you are, under no circumstances should you tell them you’re 60. Tell them you’re 70. The compliments might be the only ones you get all year.

It’s also a good idea to write them down, fast, before you forget, so you can read them when you finally find your glasses.

Speaking of losing things, the list of things you’ll lose or forget you had to begin with is far too long to go into so take my advice: kiss it all goodbye from the get-go. Sex drive. Self-confidence.

The ability to tell where your nostrils stop and your cheeks start.

Just let it go. You’ll live longer. Doesn’t that sound exciting?

And another thing. Get used to feeling like you’re invisible. You are invisible. If you walk into a room and heads turn, your skirt’s tucked into your glowing white grannies.

Not a good look.

Speaking of looks, from time to time you’ll be tempted to fight back and reclaim them.

You’ll splurge on overpriced snake oils and Pilates classes. You’ll try stuffing your swollen dogs into stilettos that should just go to Goodwill. And you might even subscribe to Goop. (Dear God, not Gwynnie!)

Worse still, you might start shouting, “I’m still young, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

Big mistake.

Unless you want to date yourself, which you might because no one else will, we urge you to refrain from quoting anything that remotely resembles Network, Dirty Harry, or any other film from the 1970s.

Should you insist, stick with Star Wars.

Just not the “I’d rather kiss a Wookie” stuff. At this stage, Wookies are your dating pool. Piss them off, and you’ll be hitting the early bird special solo.

I realize this is a lot to absorb and most of it sounds terrible. But that’s only because it is terrible.

Your best bet is to concentrate on the perks.

Walk into a room and forget why you’re there? Miss a couple of mortgage payments? Forget to send birthday cards to those kids who never call? So what. It’s expected. Cute, even!

Look at that. 60 and still adorable. And why wouldn’t we be? The pressure’s off. We can do what we want, when we want.

What’s that? You want a drink?

I knew you’d come around. Let’s stock you up and get a big box of straws. We have our whole lives ahead of us!

And to think, you wanted to spend them sober. 

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